THE OLD HOUSE
Although Edna was much better the next day, it was thought prudent to
keep her indoors. All the guests departed with the exception of her
mother, her Aunt Alice and her own self, the house resumed its ordinary
quiet and seemed rather an empty place after its throng of Thanksgiving
visitors.
"You'd better make up your mind to stay another week, daughter," said
grandma to Edna's mother. "This child isn't fit to be out, and won't be
for two or three days."
"Oh, I think she will be able to go by Monday," replied Mrs. Conway. "I
shouldn't like to keep her out of school so long."
"Her health is of much more importance than school," grandma went on.
"She is always well up in her studies, isn't she? You remember that I
didn't have the usual visit last summer, and as Alice is going to stay
we could all have a nice cozy time together."
"But how would things go on at home without me?"
"Plenty well enough. I am sure Lizzie can take care of Henry and the
boys."
"I am not so sure about the boys, though I suppose Henry could get along
very well, and Celia is in town all through the week."
"Why couldn't Charlie and Frank stay with the Porter boys till we get
back?" piped up Edna from her stool by the fire. "You know, mother, that
Mrs. Porter has asked and asked them, for her boys have already stayed
weeks with us in the summer."
"Ye-es, I know," returned Mrs. Conway, a little doubtfully.
"I am sure that is an excellent plan," said grandma, beaming at Edna
over her knitting. "Edna will be all the better for a week here, and
indeed for a longer time."
"Oh, we couldn't stay longer than next Saturday at the very outside,"
put in Mrs. Conway hastily. "I'd love to stay, mother dear, but you know
a housekeeper cannot be too long away, especially when she has not
arranged beforehand to do so."
Grandma nodded at Edna. "We'll consider it settled that you are to stay
for another week. Let's have it all arranged, daughter. Call up long
distance and let Henry know."
"I promised him, anyhow, that I would let him know to-day how Edna was
getting along. He was afraid when he went away that she might be in for
a serious illness. I shall be glad to let him know she is better."
"And he will be so glad to hear that, he won't mind your telling him you
will stay longer," remarked grandma with a little laugh.
Mrs. Conway went to the telephone and soon it was settled that they were
to remain. "I don't know what Uncle Justus will say," Mrs. Conway
observed when she re├źntered the room. "He will think I am a very
injudicious mother to keep you out of school so long."
"Not if you tell him I was sick," returned Edna, who secretly rather
enjoyed the prospect of making such an announcement. Like most children,
she liked the importance which an illness gave to her small self.
Saturday was an indoors day spent with Serena, Virginia and the big,
red book. Sunday, too, Edna was shut in except for the few minutes she
was allowed to walk up and down the porch in the sun. She was well
wrapped up for this event, and was charged not to put foot on the damp
ground.
It had been rather a lonesome morning, with everyone at church except
Amanda, but the little girl stood it pretty well. She read aloud to an
audience consisting of the two dolls and the three kittens, she sang
hymns, in rather a husky voice to be sure, and she stood at the window a
long time watching the people pass by on their way to and from church.
In the afternoon, her grandfather took his two daughters to see some
relative, Reliance went off to Sunday school, and Edna was left alone
with her grandmother who told her stories and sang, to the accompaniment
of the melodeon she had used when a little girl. Edna enjoyed this
performance very much, but after a while grandma was tired of an
instrument that skipped notes and wheezed like an old horse, so they
went back to the big chair by the open fire. Grandma continued the
singing, rocking Edna in her arms till the child fell fast asleep, the
drowsy hum of the tea-kettle, hanging on the crane, helping to make a
lullaby. When she woke up it was nearly dark. She heard her mother's
voice in the hall and realized that the long Sabbath day was nearly
over.
This was the last shut-in day, for the weather was clear and bracing,
and, well wrapped up, Edna was able to enjoy it. Reliance always joined
her when the work was done in the afternoon, and she led her to the
acquaintance of two or three other little girls: Alcinda Hewlett, the
daughter of the postmaster, Reba Manning, the minister's daughter, and
Esther Ann Taber who lived just across the way. These three were
playing with Reliance and Edna in front of Esther Ann's one day when
suddenly Esther spoke up: "I know where there is an empty house and
anyone can go into it who wants to."
"Where is it?" asked Reba, with interest.
"Down past old Sam Titus's. Don't you know that brown house back there
by the orchard?"
"Oh, but it is haunted," cried Alcinda.
"Nonsense, it couldn't be," put in Reba. "My father says there aren't
such things as haunted houses, and he ought to know."
The word of such high authority as the minister could not be gainsaid,
though the suggestion gave the girls rather a creepy feeling.
"I'll dare you all to go in there with me," spoke up Esther Ann.
"Oh, Esther Ann, dast we?" said Alcinda.
"Why not? Nobody lives there, and I don't believe anyone owns it, for
there is never a person goes in or out, even to do spring cleaning. I
heard my mother say that two old ladies lived there, sisters, and they
didn't speak to one another for years; that was long ago and since they
died nobody knows who the place belongs to, for it isn't ever lived in."
"Like that place where we go to gather chestnuts," spoke up Reba.
"Anybody can go there and get all they want. My father said I could go,
and that it was all right, and he knows."
"Of course he does," agreed Esther Ann. "Come, who is going with me?"
"I'd as soon go as not," Reliance was the first to speak.
"How do you get in?" asked Alcinda, a little doubtfully.
"Walk in, goosey. Just open the door and walk in."
"Isn't the door locked?"
"The back door isn't, I tried it one day," replied Esther Ann.
"Why didn't you go in then?" asked Alcinda.
"Well, I was all by myself, and--and--I thought it would be nicer to
have some one with me; it always is when you want to explore."
This seemed a perfectly reasonable answer, and the others were
reassured, moreover, to a company of five, nothing was likely to happen,
they thought, and the spirit of adventure was high in the breast of more
than one.
"We'd better start right along," suggested Reliance, "for I have to be
back, and Edna mustn't stay out after dark."
"Then, come along, all that want to go," cried Esther Ann, taking the
lead.
Off they started down the wide street bordered by maples, now shorn of
their leaves, but furnishing a carpet of yellow underfoot, past the
church, the store, the schoolhouse and on to the old brown house sitting
back behind an orchard of gnarled, crooked apple trees. The place was
all grown up with weeds, though here and there were signs of a former
garden. Up the rotting pillars of the porch a woodbine still clambered,
and around the door, lilac bushes kept their green.
Though she had come thus far without mishap, Alcinda's courage suddenly
failed her and she turned and ran.
"'Fraid cat! 'Fraid cat!" called Esther Ann after her.
This had the effect of arresting Alcinda in her flight and she stood
still.
"Come on," cried Esther Ann.
"I don't want to," called back Alcinda. "I'll wait out here for you."
"You don't know what you're missing," Esther Ann called back, trying
once more to persuade her.
"I'll wait for you here," repeated Alcinda taking up her position on the
horse block by the gate.
"All right," responded Esther Ann, and opened the door which gave easily
as she turned the knob.
The four little girls found themselves in a dingy kitchen whose
belongings remained as they had been left years before. Cobwebs hung
from the ceiling; dust was everywhere. The stove rusty and falling to
pieces, still held one or two pots and pans. There was crockery on the
dresser, and a lamp on the table.
Esther Ann led the way to the next room. "I don't think this one is a
bit interesting," she made the remark as she penetrated further.
"Do you think we ought to go?" whispered Edna to Reliance, as these two
lagged a little in the rear.
"Why not? Anyone can come in if it belongs to no one, and they say it
doesn't belong to a soul. Nobody lives here and why haven't we a right
as well as the rest of the world?"
This argument satisfied Edna and she followed along through the deserted
rooms, catching sight of a moth-eaten cover here, a bunch of withered
flowers there. Books, long untouched, lay half open on a table in one
room, the bed was still unmade in another, and everything was confusion.
"Isn't it lovely and spooky?" said Esther Ann, tingling with excitement.
"I'm going to see what is in those bureau drawers."
She darted toward an old-fashioned bureau which stood in the room,
flopped down on her knees, and drew out the lower drawer. "Oh, girls,"
she cried, "look here."
The others gathered around her to see boxes in which were the treasures
of a forgotten owner,--strings of beads, half-worn white kid gloves, a
fan with ivory sticks, combs, and ornaments of various kinds.
"Let's each take something home to her mother," proposed Esther Ann. "I
speak for the fan."
"Oh, Esther, do you dare?" asked Reba.
"Why not? They don't belong to anyone," came back the old argument.
"Some one else will most likely take them if we don't," remarked
Reliance conclusively.
This satisfied the less venturesome, and they all sat down on the floor
to make a selection. Reba chose a quaint, silver buckle, Reliance
selected a mother-of-pearl card-case, Edna decided upon a
tortoise-shell comb.
"Wasn't it lovely that we should find them?" said Esther Ann
enthusiastically. "It will be so nice to be able to take home presents.
I am glad no one else found them before we did."
"I wonder how long the back door has been opened," said Reba. "Has it
always been?"
"I don't know. I never tried it till the other day," Esther Ann told
her.
After rummaging a little further and discovering frocks and coats of
unfamiliar cut hanging in the closets and wardrobes, and coming upon
mouldy slippers, and queer-looking hats in other places, they concluded
they must go. Alcinda had wearied of waiting and had gone off long
before, therefore, the four, after shutting the door behind them, took
their way through the leaf-strewn path to the gate, then up the street
to their respective homes.
"Don't you think Mrs. Willis will be pleased with the card-case?" asked
Reliance, as they were entering the gate at Overlea.
"I'm sure she will. She can use it when she goes to the city to see
Uncle Bert, and I know mother will like this comb," returned Edna.
Reliance had no time to present her gift at that moment for Amanda
called her to come at once to attend to her duties, remarking that she
was late, but Edna hunted up her mother who was upstairs. "Oh, mother,
mother," she cried, entering the room where her mother was, "see what I
have for you. Isn't it pretty?"
Her mother looked up from the letter she was writing. "What is it, dear?
Why, Edna, what a beautiful comb. Where did you get it?"
"I found it," replied Edna in an assured tone. "We all found lovely
things." Then she launched forth upon an account of the afternoon's
adventures.
Her mother listened attentively, and when the child had finished her
tale, she drew her close to her side, kissing the little, eager face,
and saying, "Dear child, I am afraid you have made a mistake. The things
were not for you little girls to take."
"But mother, they didn't belong to anyone. They have been there for
years and years, and nobody wants them."
"They would have to belong to some one, dear child. We will ask grandma
about the house and whose property it is. Let us go find her."
They hunted up Mrs. Willis who listened interestedly to what they had to
tell. "The old Topham house," she said when they had finished. "It
belonged to two sisters, Miss Nancy and Miss Tabitha Topham. These two
lived together for years, but finally they quarreled and each vowed that
she would never speak to the other. They died within a few weeks of one
another and there were no nearer heirs than distant cousins who have
never troubled themselves to look after the place. Old Nathan Holcomb
was the nearest neighbor and he used to keep things pretty well secured,
but since his death the place has been going to rack and ruin more and
more each year. There is some fine, old furniture there and it is a
wonder everything in the house has not been stolen before now, but as
the place has the reputation of being haunted it has been more or less
avoided. I never heard of its being open to the public and I shall speak
to some one who will see that it is made secure. Even if it is not
valued by the present owners, it should not be left for tramps or any
chance vagrant to make use of."
Edna looked down at the comb which she still held in her hand. "What
must I do about this?" she asked.
"You must take it back to-morrow and restore it to its place," her
mother told her. "I am perfectly sure that not one of you little girls
dreamed that she had no right to take the things, but nevertheless they
were not yours, and I am very certain that the other mothers will say
the same thing."
"Reliance has a lovely card-case," said Edna, regretfully. "She was
going to give it to you, grandma."
Mrs. Willis smiled. "I appreciate the spirit, but she must not be
allowed to keep it, my dear."
Edna's face sobered. She felt much crestfallen. She wondered what Reba's
father would say.
She did not have long to wait to find this out for after supper came two
young callers who sidled in with rather shamefaced expressions. "Suppose
you take Reba and Esther Ann into the dining-room for a little while,"
suggested grandma encouragingly. "Little folks like to chatter about
their own affairs, I well know."
Edna shot her grandma a grateful look and soon was closeted with the
little girls. "Oh, Edna, what did your mother say?" began Esther Ann.
"She said I must take back the comb, because I had no right to take it."
"That's just what my mother said," returned Esther Ann.
"My father said it's dishonest," put in Reba, "I mean dishonest to keep
it. He knew we didn't mean to steal."
"Oh, Reba, don't say such a dreadful word," said Edna in distress.
"It would be stealing, you know, if we were to keep the things,"
continued Reba bluntly. "My father says you couldn't call it by any
other name, and that to break into a house is burglary."
This sounded even more dreadful, though Esther Ann relieved the speech
of its effect by saying: "But we didn't break in; we just opened the
door and walked in. There wouldn't have been anyone to answer if we had
knocked."
"That makes me feel kind of shivery," remarked Edna. "I would rather not
go back, but I suppose we shall have to."
"Yes, we shall have to," Reba made the statement determinedly.
Therefore, it was with anything but an adventurous spirit that the four
little girls went on their errand the next afternoon. There was no
poking into nooks and corners this time, but straight to the bureau went
they. Solemnly was each article returned to the box from which it was
taken. Silently they tip-toed down the dusty stairs and through the
silent rooms to the outer air where each drew a sigh of relief. Esther
Ann was the first to speak. "There, that's done," she said. "I don't
ever want to go there again."
"Nor I."
"Nor I."
"Nor I," chanted the other three.