THE HAUNTED HOUSE
An intensely blue sea embracing green islands, gray rocks against which
sometimes curled, sometimes dashed, white-crested waves; a sky softly
blue in the daytime, often rosy-flecked at sunset, at night a splendid
background for myriad stars which never before seemed so near and so
bright; peaked fir trees, song sparrows singing from the housetops,
robins calling cheerfully from grassy hummocks, all these so impressed
Ellen that it was with difficulty that she could bring herself to make a
practical application of her mind to such affairs as her cousin
demanded.
The house, though small, gave ample room for even Beulah. It was still
cool enough in the evenings to light the logs in the big fireplace, and
the days were long enough to afford time for walks in the morning,
sailing in the afternoon, and supper on the rocks before dark.
Miss Rindy was in her element in the exercise of her executive powers,
and Beulah burst forth into song at intervals, thus showing her content
with the situation.
However, the latter met her Waterloo the first time that lobsters were
to be served for supper. She appeared at the door of the living-room
gingerly holding a lobster in each hand, gripping a claw firmly with a
dish towel. “Law, Miss Rindy,” she exclaimed, “what kin’ o’ bugs is
dese? I skeered o’ ’em. Boy fetch ’em in an’ say yuh-alls order ’em.
What good is dey, Miss Rindy, ma’am?”
“Why, good to eat,” answered Miss Rindy. “Did you never see a lobster,
Beulah?”
“I hears Miss Mabel talk ’bout live br’iled lobster. Is dey daid?”
Beulah regarded them suspiciously.
“Of course. I wouldn’t undertake, myself, to boil them, so I had Mrs.
Simpson do it for us; it is an everyday matter with her. You’ve heard
the saying, ‘red as a boiled lobster,’ haven’t you?”
“I ’specs I has, but I doesn’t recomember. Anyway, Miss Rindy, yuh
doesn’t ketch me eatin’ dem evil-eyed critturs. How yuh eats ’em? Dey is
hard as rocks.”
“You open them as you do crabs, and take out the meat,” Miss Rindy
explained. “You’ve prepared crabs many a time, Beulah.”
“Oh, yas’m, I has, but I skeered to tackle dese owdacious-lookin’
critturs. I knows crabs, but I nuver had de presentations of dese yere
lobsters.” She bore them back to the kitchen.
“Now what’s to be done?” said Miss Rindy. “Do you know anything about
opening lobsters, Miss Wickham?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. It has never been a part of my education.”
“Nor mine. I don’t want you all to be poisoned by getting hold of some
deadly part,” returned Miss Rindy.
“Why not take them up to Mrs. Simpson and get her to show us how?” Ellen
suggested.
“Just the ticket,” exclaimed Mabel, springing up. “Come along, Ellen.
We’ll take a lesson from Mrs. Belah, and the next time we’ll show
Beulah, so we’ll be independent for the rest of the summer.”
They bundled up the lobsters and bore them off to Mrs. Simpson, who
laughed when she learned their errand. That any one should be so
ignorant as not to know how to open lobsters was incomprehensible to
her. “These city folks don’t know everything,” she confided to her
next-door neighbor. However, she was “pleased to accommodate them,” she
said, and each girl performed her task creditably under direction.
Mrs. Belah, or Aunt Noby, as every one called her, was a gentle old lady
who had not outgrown an ancient belief in witches, signs, charms, and
ghosts. She had had signs that very morning which indicated that she was
to have strange visitors, so she was not in the least surprised when the
two girls arrived. There was a horseshoe nailed above the door to keep
off witches, for “there do be witches,” she said. As for ghosts, was
there not a haunted house on the very next island? Every one knew that
mysterious noises issued from it at certain times, and more than one had
heard footsteps and had actually seen a pale face at the window.
“How fascinating!” cried Mabel. “We must go over there and investigate
some day, Ellen. Have you ever been there, Aunt Noby?”
“Not I. Nothing would induce me. I’ve no wish to have any dealings with
ungodly beings. The Bible warns us. Wasn’t Saul made to suffer because
he dealt with familiar spirits? No, no, I cast all such doings from me.”
The girls took their leave, smiling as they went. “Isn’t she a dear,
old-fashioned thing?” said Mabel. “Just the same, I mean to explore that
house. Will you be a sport and go with me, Ellen? It will be such an
adventure.”
“Nothing would suit me better. I’m primed for high adventure.”
“Then let’s go this afternoon; there’s no time like the present.”
The matter of lobsters was forgotten in this new excitement, but Miss
Rindy brought back the subject, and the two girls were obliged to
explain the anatomy of the creature before they were permitted to talk
of anything else.
“One thing at a time,” said Miss Rindy. “I have a single-track mind, and
can’t mix lobsters with haunted houses.”
“But you will go with us, won’t you? Please,” Ellen begged.
“How far is it?”
“Over on the next island.”
“Too far for an old limp-and-go-fetch-it like me. Don’t stay too late,
and don’t let the goblins get you.”
The girls started off in high feather. Their way led to the end of
Beatty’s Island, and thence by means of a bridge to Minor’s Island. Wild
roses adorned the sides of the road, little ripe strawberries peeped out
from the running tendrils of their vines, a sandpiper twittered and ran
along ahead of them in frightened endeavor to lead them away from its
nest, gulls screamed in noisy combat as they followed in the wake of a
fishing boat, but the girls heeded none of these, for their spirits were
winged for adventure.
In Mabel’s companionship Ellen felt happier than she had been since the
dear studio days. On this peaceful island all the troubles of the past
three years seemed to roll from her; the present was enough, no need to
peer into the shadowy future. “Ah me, how glorious all this is!” she
sighed contentedly. “I wonder if you know, Mabel Wickham, what it means
to me to have you to walk with, to talk to. Never have I had such a dear
chummy person to delight my soul.”
“Same here,” replied Mabel promptly. “All my life I’ve been looking for
an Ellen North, and to think I should have found her simply by putting
my finger on a little spot on the map. Don’t tell me things just happen;
they are ordered, arranged by Heaven, or they wouldn’t be so wonderful.”
“So I believe. Do you suppose there are any more delightful things
waiting for us around the corner?”
“Or at the haunted house,” returned Mabel laughing.
“That might be, of course. No place is so queer or so insignificant that
it cannot hold the germ of a future joy, Mr. Todd says.”
“What a dear old man he is. I’d like just such a friend, but they don’t
seem to come my way. You are a lucky girl, Ellen.”
“I believe I am in some directions. Certainly I have some wonderful
friends, you, for instance.”
“Thanks for the compliment; I can return it.”
“I should think you would have the opportunity of making any kind of
friend you wished,” said Ellen thoughtfully.
“You don’t know how difficult it is. I scarcely ever meet any one who
thinks my thoughts or likes my likes. If I do meet any one promising, he
or she is whisked away before I have a chance for a better acquaintance.
Of course I do know some perfectly dear people that I love dearly, but
they can’t enter into my interests and ambitions. My dear grandmother
thinks I am queer to want a career. She can’t see why I shouldn’t be
satisfied with a butterfly existence. I live within sight of the
Monument, which is a fact that settles my status, to her mind. I can sit
at my window and watch the passers-by as they promenade after church, a
great privilege, that. I can listen to all the latest gossip about those
in my own set. I can go to the best shops and have intimate talks with
Miss Maggie or Miss Jennie, who will advise me what to buy, and will
serve me well because I am my grandmother’s granddaughter. I never have
to soil my hands with menial work. I can entertain and be entertained,
so what in the world is there left in life to wish for?” Mabel laughed a
little bitterly. “Would that fill your life satisfactorily?” she asked
earnestly. “Would clothes and fine food and foolish gossip make up the
summum bonum of your existence?”
“No, I am sure it wouldn’t, although I haven’t any large contempt for
the fine clothes and food. I shall not disdain that lobster salad, for
example.”
Mabel laughed. “But you have your career all cut out for you, a talent
to cultivate which is a gift the fairies did not bestow upon me.”
“How do you know you haven’t a talent? What career appeals to you?”
“Something that would be for the good of mankind. I’d like to go into
social service, but Gran would be horrified, be scared lest I should
lower my position in life by washing the faces of dirty little children.
I might bring home germs, or some one might see me speaking to one of
the lower classes; that would never do. I have thought of teaching,
training for some special subject, but it would mean that I might rob
one more deserving of a salary. I don’t want to be a secretary, nor do I
want to go into business. Those who need to make a living should not be
thrust aside by those whose living is assured; that is what destroys the
balance. So, there you are, Ellen. What shall I do?”
“How do you know but your vocation may be that of home-maker?” returned
Ellen laughing.
“Bah! I didn’t expect that of you, Ellen. I see no prospect of such a
career at present. I am twenty years old, and it is time I was turning
my attention to something definite. It is all very well for you to talk,
who know exactly what you are going to do.”
“What am I going to do?”
“Cultivate your musical talents, your lovely voice and all that. Go to
the city and study, of course.”
“And desert Cousin Rindy? Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. I shall stand by
in Marshville as long as she needs me. When she doesn’t, I’ll begin to
think of something else.”
“But you wouldn’t have to desert her; she could go to the city with you
and take a little apartment.”
“Do you think we are bloated bond-holders? No, no, Marshville must be my
home as long as it is Cousin Rindy’s.”
Mabel looked troubled, but had no answer just then, for the haunted
house was before them. It was a dingy, ramshackle building, gray and
deserted; broken slats flapped in the shutters, doors sagged on their
hinges, and one dead limb of a scraggy tree scraped the moss-grown roof
at every gust of wind.
The two girls, however, did not hesitate to approach by way of a
grass-grown walk. “It does look the character,” observed Mabel as they
paused on the sunken door-step, “yet it must have been rather a nice old
place in its day. Shall we go in?”
“Why not? The hants won’t be waiting for us outside.”
“They won’t be inside either, unless I miss my guess.”
“That’s what we came ‘for to see.’”
The sagging front door did not yield to their efforts to open it.
“Probably is nailed up,” suggested Mabel. “Let’s go around to the back.”
This they did, and found an entrance through a low door, which led into
a shed, which, in turn, opened into a large kitchen where a battered
stove and some broken chairs stood. “It’s evident that no one has lived
here for a long time,” remarked Mabel, looking around.
“No one but spiders,” returned Ellen, looking up at the cobwebs which
draped the corners of the room. “Let’s go on, Mabel.”
They went from room to room, finding only a few bits of old furniture,
and hearing only the tap-tap of the gaunt branch upon the roof, the
creak of broken shutters, and the whir of wings in the chimney.
“Swallows,” exclaimed Ellen, “chimney-swifts they call them. Maybe they
are the ghosts.”
Mabel opened a door which disclosed a flight of steps leading to the
attic, but she closed it quickly. “Don’t go up,” she cried, as something
came swooping toward her. “The house has bats in its belfry.”
Ellen laughed and turned toward a cupboard whose door she opened. “A
discovery! A discovery!” she cried. “Come here, Mabel. See what I’ve
found.”
Mabel hurried over to the corner where Ellen stood examining something
she held in her hand. “What is it? What is it?” Mabel inquired.
“A card with a name and a date. Some one has been here this year before
us. See.”
Mabel took the card and read, “Compliments to the ghost.” Then followed
the initials R. M., the date, and the engraved name Robert MacDonald.
“What a lark!” she exclaimed. “I wonder who Robert is. He has an
imagination, whoever he may be.”
“Let’s write something on the back of the card and leave it,” suggested
Ellen. “We’ll come back some day and see what happens.”
“Done,” agreed Mabel.
After consultation they decided to write: “Thanks for compliments. With
hopes for a better acquaintance, The Ghost.”
“That will whet Robert’s curiosity if he ever comes here again,”
declared Mabel.
“And it is a sort of adventure for us,” responded Ellen. “I rather hope
he will come again, don’t you, Mabel?”
“Yes, for it will be sort of exciting for us to follow up the affair. We
must make it as mysterious as possible, and never, never let on that we
have anything to do with it.”
They laid the card back on the dusty shelf and left the gloomy house,
laughing and excited in the possession of a secret.
The summer cottages were beginning to fill up, guests were arriving at
the boarding-houses, consequently there was always a crowd at the
post-office when the mail was sorted. The steamboat which brought it had
just steamed off when the girls reached the long flight of steps which
led to the wharf. They threaded their way through the crowd which was
thronging the small store. Most took advantage of the hour to do their
marketing, since fresh supplies generally came on the boat, so the boxes
and crates received attention until it was time for the little
post-office window to be opened.
Ellen and Mabel took their places in line. A young man, looking over his
shoulder, stepped aside. “Take my place,” he said; “I’m not in a hurry.”
He raised his hat and walked off while they moved up, and presently,
loaded up with letters, papers, two bottles of milk, and a box of
strawberries, they started for home.
“That was a nice, polite somebody,” remarked Mabel; “I wonder who he
is.”
“Robert MacDonald maybe,” returned Ellen laughing.
“Wouldn’t it be funny if he were? I suppose we could find out. Would you
ask?”
“Oh, no, don’t; it would spoil our secret. Let’s keep up the mystery for
a while longer. If it should be he, we would feel sort of conscious; and
if it isn’t, there is no harm done.”
“I reckon you’re right. I rather like his looks, whatever his name may
be. We’ll leave it this way: if we meet him around, we’ll probably find
out all about him. If he should prove to be Robert, we can keep our own
counsel and he will have no way of identifying us, so there you are.
There may nothing more come of it, for it is quite likely that he will
never pay another visit to the haunted house.”
“I shall be really disappointed if he doesn’t. It would be such fun if
he were to answer our message.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Well, I shall try to restrain my curiosity for a week, but no longer. A
week from to-day I go again. What do you say?”
“I say we don’t set any time, but just leave the whole thing to chance.
We’ll go again when it’s convenient, whether it be to-morrow, next week,
or the week after. It is more fun to have it chancy like that.”
Ellen agreed that it would be so, and they went on to deliver their
supplies to Miss Rindy.
“We brought a box of strawberries, but there wasn’t any cream to-day.
Mr. Nevins says it must have been put off on one of the other islands,”
Ellen explained.
“Dear me!” exclaimed Miss Rindy. “That’s just the way it goes. Yesterday
they lost our mackerel out of the wagon and some one picked it up on the
road, and to-day this happens. Well, we can have strawberry shortcake
for supper, and as soon as I can get around to it I’ll go up to Portland
and lay in a lot of supplies, things that can’t be had here. It is
rather disconcerting, but I’ve been up against worse situations over in
France.”
“I think it’s rather fun not to know exactly what you are going to have,
something like a game in which you don’t know just how you will come
out.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” returned Miss Rindy. “Suppose you turn
to and hull these strawberries while Beulah is making the shortcake;
then I can attend to the rest of the supper. Did you have a good walk?”
“Fine,” Ellen answered, but she said no word of the haunted house.