HILLCREST
Mrs. Pritchett and Sairy really were frightened by Lyddy Bray's temerity.
As for Lucas, he still hung his head and would not look at his father.
Cyrus Pritchett had bullied his family so long that to be bearded in his
own house certainly amazed him. He glared at the girl for fully a minute,
without being able to formulate any reply. Then he burst out with:
"You let me ketch any other man on this ridge puttin' a plow inter the
old doctor's land! I've tilled it for years, I tell ye----"
"And you can till it again, Mr. Pritchett," said Lyddy, softly. "You
needn't holler so about it--we all hear you."
The coolness of the girl silenced him.
"So, now it's understood," she went on, smiling at him brightly. "And
we'll try this year to make a little better crop. We really must get
something more out of it than the taxes."
"Jane Hammon' won't buy no fertilizer," growled Mr. Pritchett, put on
the defensive--though he couldn't tell why. "An' ye can't grow corn on
run-down land without potash an' kainit, and the like."
"Well, you shall tell us all about that later," declared Lyddy, "and
we'll see. I understand that you can't get blood from a turnip. We want
to put Hillcrest in better shape--both in and out of the house--and then
there'll be a better chance to sell it."
Cyrus Pritchett's eyes suddenly twinkled with a shrewd light.
"Does Jane Hammon' really want to sell the farm?" he queried.
"If she gets a good offer," replied Lyddy. "That's what we hope to do
while we're at Hillcrest--make the place more valuable and more attractive
to the possible buyer."
"Ha!" grunted Cyrus, sneeringly. "She'll get a fancy price for
Hillcrest--not!"
But that ended the discussion. "Maw" Pritchett looked on in wonder. She
had seen her husband beaten in an argument by a "chit of a girl"--and
really, Cyrus did not seem to be very ugly, or put out about it, either!
He told Lucas to put the ponies to the wagon again, and to take the Bray
girls and their belongings up to Hillcrest; and to see that they were
comfortable for the night before he came back.
This encouraged Mrs. Pritchett, when Lyddy took out her purse to pay for
their entertainment, to declare:
"For the good land, no! We ain't goin' to charge ye for a meal of
vittles--and you gals Dr. Polly Phelps's own grandchildren! B'sides, we
want ye to be neighborly. It's nice for Sairy to have young companions,
too. I tell her she'll git to be a reg'lar old maid if she don't 'sociate
more with gals of her own age."
Sairy bridled and blushed at this. But she wasn't an unkind girl, and
she helped 'Phemie gather their possessions--especially the latter's wet
clothing.
"I'm sure I wish ye joy up there at the old house," said Sairy, with a
shudder. "But ye wouldn't ketch me."
"Catch you doing what?" asked 'Phemie, wonderingly.
"Stayin' in Dr. Phelps's old house over night," explained Sairy.
"Why not?"
The farmer's daughter drew close to 'Phemie's ear and whispered:
"It's ha'nted!"
"_What?_" cried 'Phemie.
"Ghosts," exclaimed Sairy, in a thrilling voice. "All old houses is
ha'nted. And that's been give up to ghosts for years an' years."
"Oh, goody!" exclaimed 'Phemie, clasping her hands and almost dancing in
delight. "Do you mean it's a really, truly haunted house?"
Sairy Pritchett gazed at her with slack jaw and round eyes for a minute.
Then she sniffed.
"Wa-al!" she muttered. "I re'lly thought you was _bright_. But I see ye
ain't got any too much sense, after all," and forthwith refused to say
anything more to 'Phemie.
But the younger Bray girl decided to say nothing about the supposed
ghostly occupants of Hillcrest to her sister--for the present, at least.
There was still half a mile of road to climb to Hillcrest, for the way was
more winding than it had been below; and as the girls viewed the summit
of the ridge behind Aunt Jane's old farm they saw that the heaped-up
rocks were far more rugged than romantic, after all.
"There's two hundred acres of it," Lucas observed, chirruping to the
ponies. "But more'n a hundred is little more'n rocks. And even the timber
growin' among 'em ain't wuth the cuttin'. Ye couldn't draw it out.
There's firewood enough on the place, and a-plenty! But that's 'bout
all--'nless ye wanted to cut fence rails, or posts."
"What are those trees at one side, near the house?" queried Lyddy,
interestedly.
"The old orchard. _There's_ your nearest firewood. Ain't been much fruit
there since I can remember. All run down."
And, indeed, Hillcrest looked to be, as they approached it, a typical
run-down farm. Tall, dry weed-stalks clashed a welcome to them from the
fence corners as the ponies turned into the lane from the public road. The
sun had drawn a veil of cloud across his face and the wind moaned in the
gaunt branches of the beech trees that fringed the lane.
The house was set upon a knoll, with a crumbling, roofed porch around
the front and sides. There were trees, but they were not planted near
enough to the house to break the view on every side but one of the
sloping, green and brown mountainside, falling away in terraced fields,
patches of forest, tablelands of rich, tillable soil, and bush-cluttered
pastures, down into the shadowy valley, through which the river and the
railroad wound.
Behind Hillcrest, beyond the outbuildings, and across the narrow,
poverty-stricken fields, were the battlements of rock, shutting out all
view but that of the sky.
Lonely it was, as Aunt Jane had declared; but to the youthful eyes of the
Bray girls the outlook was beautiful beyond compare!
"Our land jines this farm down yonder a piece," explained Lucas, drawing
in the ponies beside the old house. "Ye ain't got nobody behind ye till
ye git over the top of the ridge. Your line follers the road on this side,
and on the other side of the road is Eben Brewster's stock farm of a
thousand acres--mostly bush-parsture an' rocks, up this a-way."
The girls were but momentarily interested in the outlook, however. It was
the old house itself which their bright eyes scanned more particularly
as they climbed down from the wagon.
There were two wings, or "ells." In the west wing was the kitchen and
evidently both sitting and sleeping rooms, upstairs and down--enough to
serve all their present needs. Aunt Jane had told them that there were,
altogether, twenty-two rooms in the old house.
Lucas hitched his horses and then began to lift down their luggage. Lyddy
led the way to the side door, of which she had the key.
The lower windows were defended by tight board shutters, all about the
house. The old house had been well guarded from the depredations of casual
wayfarers. Had tramps passed this way the possible plunder in the old
house had promised to be too bulky to attract them; and such wanderers
could have slept as warmly in the outbuildings.
Lyddy inserted the key and, after some trouble, for the lock was rusty,
turned it. There was an ancient brass latch, and she lifted it and pushed
the door open.
"My! isn't it dark--and musty," the older sister said, hesitating on the
threshold.
"Welcome to the ghosts of Hillcrest," spoke 'Phemie, in a sepulchral voice.
"Oh, don't!" gasped Lyddy.
She had not been afraid of Cyrus Pritchett, but 'Phemie's irreverence for
the spirits of the old house shocked her.
"All right," laughed the younger girl. "We'll cut out the ghosts, then."
"We most certainly _will_. If I met a ghost here I'd certainly cut him
dead!"
'Phemie went forward boldly and opened the door leading into the big
kitchen. It was gloomy there, too, for the shutters kept out most of the
light. The girls could see, however, that it was a well-furnished room.
They were delighted, too, for this must be their living-room until they
could set the house to rights.
"Dust, dust everywhere," said 'Phemie, making a long mark in it with her
finger on the dresser.
"But _only_ dust. We can get cleaned up here all right by evening. Come!
unhook the shutters and let in the light of day."
The younger girl raised one of the small-paned window sashes, unbolted the
shutter, and pushed both leaves open. The light streamed in and almost
at once Lucas's head appeared.
"How does it look to ye--eh?" he asked, grinning. "Gee! the hearth's all
cleared and somebody's had a fire here."
"It must have been a long time ago," returned Lyddy, noting the crusted
ashes between the andirons.
"Wa-al," said Lucas, slowly. "I'll git to work with the axe an' soon start
ye a fire there, B-r-r-r! it's cold as a dog's nose in there," and he
disappeared again.
But the sunlight and air which soon flooded the room through all the
windows quickly gave the long-shut-up kitchen a new atmosphere.
'Phemie already had on a working dress, having changed at the Pritchett
house after her unfortunate ducking; Lyddy soon laid aside her own better
frock, too.
Then they found their bundle of brooms and brushes, and set to work. There
was a pump on the back porch and a well in the yard. During all these
empty years the leather valve of the pump had rotted away; but Lucas
brought them water from the well.
"I kin git the shoemaker in town to cut ye out a new leather," said the
young farmer. "He's got a pattern. An' I can put it in for ye. The pump'll
be a sight handier than the well for you two gals."
"Now, isn't he a nice boy?" demanded Lyddy of her sister. "And you called
him a freak."
"Don't rub it in, Lyd," snapped 'Phemie. "But it is hard to have to accept
a veritable gawk of a fellow like Lucas--for that's what he _is_!--as a
sure-enough hero."
This was said aside, of course, and while Lucas was doing yeoman's work at
the woodpile. He had brought in a huge backlog, placed it carefully,
laid a forestick and the kindling, and soon blue and yellow flames
were weaving through the well-built structure of the fire. There was a
swinging crane for the kettle and a long bar with hooks upon it, from
which various cooking pots could dangle. Built into the chimney, too,
was a brick oven with a sheet-iron door. The girls thought all these
old-fashioned arrangements delightful, whether they proved convenient, or
not.
They swept and dusted the old kitchen thoroughly, and cleaned the
cupboards and pantry-closet. Then they turned their attention to the
half bedchamber, half sitting-room that opened directly out of the
kitchen. In these two rooms they proposed to live at first--until
their father could join them, at least.
There was an old-time high, four-post bed in this second room. It had been
built long before some smart man had invented springs, and its frame was
laced from side to side, and up and down, like the warp and woof of a
rug, with a "bedrope" long since rotted and moth-eaten.
"My goodness me!" exclaimed 'Phemie, laughing. "That will never hold you
and me, Lyd. We'll just have to stuff that old tick with hay and sleep on
the floor."
But Lucas heard their discussion and again came to their help. Lyddy had
bought a new clothesline when she purchased her food supplies at the city
department store, and the clever Lucas quickly roped the old bedstead.
"That boy certainly is rising by leaps and bounds in my estimation,"
admitted 'Phemie, in a whisper, to her sister.
Then came the problem of the bed. Lyddy had saved their pillows from
the wreck of the flat; but the mattresses had gone with the furniture to
the second-hand man. There might be good feather beds in the farmhouse
attic; Aunt Jane had said something about them, Lyddy believed. But there
was no time to hunt for these now.
"Here is a tick," 'Phemie said again. "What'll we fill it with?"
"Give it to me," volunteered Lucas. "One of the stable lofts is half full
of rye straw. We thrashed some rye on this place last year. It's jest as
good beddin' for humans as it is for cattle, I declare."
"All right," sighed 'Phemie. "We'll bed down like the cows for a while. I
don't see anything better to do."
But really, by sunset, they were nearly to rights and the prospect for a
comfortable first night at Hillcrest was good.
Lucas's huge fire warmed both the kitchen and the bedroom, despite the
fact that the evening promised to be chilly, with the wind mourning about
the old house and rattling the shutters. The girls closed the blinds,
made all cozy, and bade young Pritchett good-night.
Lyddy had paid him the promised dollar for transporting their goods,
and another half-dollar for the work he had done about the house that
afternoon.
"And I'll come up in the mornin' an' bring ye the milk an' eggs maw
promised ye," said Lucas, as he drove away, "and I'll cut ye some more
wood then."
There was already a great heap of sticks beside the hearth, and in the
porch another windrow, sheltered from any possible storm.
"We're in luck to have such good neighbors," sighed Lyddy, as the farm
wagon rattled away.
"My! but we're going to have good times here," declared 'Phemie, coming
into the house after her and closing and locking the door.
"It's a long way off from everybody else," observed the older sister, in
a doubtful tone. "But I don't believe we shall be disturbed."
"Nonsense!" cried 'Phemie. "Let's have supper. I'm starved to death."
She swung the blackened old tea-kettle over the blaze, and moved briskly
about the room laying the cloth, while Lyddy got out crackers and cheese
and opened a tin of meat before she brewed the comforting cup of tea that
both girls wanted.
However, they _were_ alone--half a mile from the nearest habitation--and
if nothing else, they could not help secretly comparing their loneliness
with the tenement in the city from which they had so recently graduated.