THE OLD HOUSE IN THE GLEN
The old horse, ancient and worn by many cares as he was, shied as the
figure in tattered clothes rushed toward them. Seth Wiggley uttered an
imprecation and sawed at the reins.
With a cry of pity, Bab Winters rose in her seat. She might have sprung
to the road while the wagon was still in motion if Gerry had not caught
her.
Before another move could be made, a second figure darted from the
woods, seized the terrified child with a firm grip and dragged him back
into the shelter of the bushes.
There was a sharp wail of terror, instantly silenced.
With a shout the boys jumped from the back of the wagon. Gordon led
the way to the spot where the strange pair had disappeared. Charlie
followed.
Bab and Gerry were not slow to follow them. Filled with curiosity, they
plunged into the woods, sparing not a thought to their own safety, deaf
to the warning cries of Mrs. Fenwick and Rosa Lee. In their ears was
the sound of the boy’s cry, his wild appeal for help.
Gordon and Charlie had picked up sticks as they ran. Now they thrashed
violently at the bushes, the light of battle in their eyes. Charlie
Seymour appeared thoroughly roused from his usual state of lethargy and
followed Gordon’s lead with enthusiasm.
However, the search proved fruitless. If that sinister figure, darting
into the road to seize its victim, had been possessed of magic powers
and had disappeared down a hole in the earth, his escape could not have
been more completely shrouded in mystery.
There was no sign either of him or the boy; no sign, even, of a
struggle in the bushes.
After a few moments more of fruitless effort, the young folks gave up
the search and gathered in the road, amazed and shaken by the strange
experience.
Bab saw that Mrs. Fenwick was beckoning to them. Rosa Lee was in the
act of descending from her seat in the wagon, packages and all.
Bab and Gerry tried to explain to Mrs. Fenwick.
“They have gone--disappeared,” said Bab, raising her voice.
“Who have gone?” asked the woman, cupping a hand behind her ear.
“That awful man and the boy,” shouted Gerry. “We couldn’t find them.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Fenwick. “Well, you had better get into the wagon
again, my dears. It is safer than the woods.”
The girls exchanged incredulous glances. Their placid chaperon was
apparently not interested in the strange occurrence.
“It’s the most utterly mysterious thing that ever happened,” Bab said
as they obediently climbed into the wagon again.
“It is, for a fact,” Gordon agreed. “One minute you see them, the next
they’ve vanished into thin air. The whole thing reads like a dream.”
“A nightmare, I’d call it,” said Bab gravely. “That poor boy! If ever I
saw terror on any human face, I tell you it was on his as he ran toward
us.”
“Ugh! It was horrible,” shuddered Gerry. “That arm reaching from the
bushes! I expect I’ll dream of it to-night.”
Seth Wiggley clucked to his horse and they jogged on again down the
dusty road.
“The fellow that grabbed the boy had a queer face,” Charlie
volunteered. “Did any of you notice him?”
“I scarcely saw his face,” Bab admitted. “You see, I was looking at the
boy.”
“The man had a handkerchief wound around his head,” Gerry contributed.
Gordon spoke suddenly.
“It was a turban,” he said with conviction.
The others looked at him inquiringly.
“You mean you think he was a Hindu or an Arab--some gentleman of that
order?” asked Gerry.
Gordon nodded gravely.
“There aren’t so many kinds of gentlemen who go around with their heads
tied up in handkerchiefs,” he reminded her.
“You’ve been reading too many adventure yarns, old top,” said Charlie,
once more relapsing into his attitude of boredom. “I thought there was
something odd about the fellow, but I didn’t take him for a Hindu.”
“Dat man sho’ had a brack face.”
The young folks were surprised by this offering from Rosa Lee and
looked at her expectantly.
“An’ Ah ought to be a jedge of brack faces,” continued the old woman,
“seein’ Ah done wore one myself ever sence Ah was old enough to set up
and take nourishment.”
“Oh, Rosa Lee, did you really get a good look at him?” asked Bab
eagerly.
“Dat Ah done, honey, sho’ ’nough,” said the Negress, with unction. “An’
dat’s why Ah got so all-fired kercited when yo’-all run off into de
woods after dat no-count nigger. Fo’ you can take my word fo’ it or
not, honey, jest as you please, but dat brack man was de debbil’s own
child.”
Gerry giggled nervously.
“Just the same,” she said softly, “I have yet to meet my first ‘brack
man’ who wore a turban.”
Bab nodded.
“I guess Gordon was right. That poor boy! That poor, ragged, abused
child! I shan’t sleep much to-night, I can tell you, thinking of him
out here in the woods alone with that awful black-skinned savage.”
Perhaps it was just as well for Bab that they came in sight of their
destination just then.
“This here’s the road,” said Seth Wiggley, pointing out to them an old
wagon road, now almost completely overgrown with weeds and stubbly
grass.
“But this road can’t be used very much,” Gerry protested.
Seth Wiggley gave her an odd look.
“No more it is, Miss,” he returned dryly. “Folks they don’t come this
way ’less they have to.”
Gerry looked at Bab significantly and, with her lips, formed the word
“ghost!”
Bab nodded.
“This was the main road onct,” Seth Wiggley continued. “But that was a
long time ago, before old Jeremiah Dare came home from his travels.
Neighborhood used to be called Clayton’s Glen.”
“It’s dreary enough now,” remarked Bab.
The trees grew closely along both sides of the disused road. The
branches grew low, almost brushing them as they passed.
“A dreary road and a dreary old house,” said Seth Wiggley, wagging his
head. “And a dreary enough old man who lived there, if you’ll excuse my
saying that!”
“You don’t like the place, do you, Mr. Wiggley?” asked Bab softly.
“Saving your presence, Miss, I do not!” said the old man decidedly. “If
you’re the Miss Barbara Winters that’s been left the house by the old
pirate that lived there----”
“He was my great-uncle, Mr. Wiggley,” said Bab, with a touch of dignity.
“Your pardon again, Miss,” said the old man, turning toward her with an
admiring and speculative look. “But maybe you’ll excuse an old fellow
for saying that if you was my daughter, I’d burn the house down before
I’d open the door to a lovely young lady like you!”
As though he suddenly regretted the words--which in truth caused a
swift chill to envelop the spirits of the party--he shut his lips
tightly on further revelations.
They came suddenly and without warning upon Bab’s property. The old
house in the glen was completely hidden by the thick green trees from
any one approaching along the road. But here it was as though the woods
had been pushed back a little--a very little--and in the heart of this
cleared space was the house that had once belonged to Jeremiah Dare and
that now was Bab’s.
An old brown house, fallen into sad disrepair. Shutters swung loose
on their hinges, one of the windows had been broken and boarded up.
At the rear was a small building, clinging to the main house like a
carbuncle--an architecturally horrible afterthought.
“What’s that?” asked Bab, meaning this appendage to her property.
“Was a blacksmith’s shop once,” explained Mr. Wiggley, pointing with
his whip. “But, so fur as I kin find out, it closed when the road did
and it ain’t been opened since. Ain’t much use for a blacksmith’s shop
here.”
Bab could not help wishing that when they had closed the blacksmith’s
shop they had taken it down altogether. Standing where it did was a
blot on the landscape, worse than the old house itself.
Looking at her inheritance, Bab’s heart sank.
“A fortune hidden here!” she thought. “Why, Uncle Jerry didn’t even
have money enough to keep the house in decent repair!”
Two faintly marked wheel tracks that had once probably been a drive led
down to the house. Seth Wiggley guided his weary nag along this, then
reined in suddenly and sprang, with wiry alacrity, to the ground.
From then on, though the old man was polite enough, helping Mrs.
Fenwick and Rosa Lee to alight and assisting with the bundles, Mr.
Wiggley delivered himself of no further observations concerning the
house. Perhaps he felt too much had been said already.
At any rate, he appeared definitely relieved when the wagon was
reversed in the narrow road and he was free to turn his back upon Bab’s
inheritance.
He clucked to his horse and was starting off when Bab suddenly
remembered that they had intended to buy provisions in the village.
She ran after the old man to see if his boy would undertake those
commissions for her.
Seth Wiggley readily promised, jotting down such things as canned peas,
chicken and potatoes, salt and sugar, in a ragged notebook he took from
his pocket.
This done, he looked at Bab kindly.
“I’m sorry I said what I did, Miss,” he apologized. “You will be doin’
an old man a favor if you will jest forgit all about it. Git up,
Betsey!”
“Forget all about it,” murmured Bab, as she watched Betsey amble off
down the road. “As though I could!”
Then, feeling the lucky ring and jingling the keys in her pocket, Bab
turned back toward the house.