THE HAUNTED COTTAGE.
She suddenly brought him down to the earth with a homely remark.
"I am tired of walking. And here is a vacant house placarded 'To Let,'
with a nice long porch in front. Come, let [us] go in and sit down on
one of the benches and rest."
And she drew him toward the little gate that led into the yard in front
of the house.
It was a rustic two-story frame cottage, with a long porch in front, all
overgrown with honeysuckles, clematis, woodbine and wild roses.
They went in together and sat down on the porch, under the shadow of the
blooming and fragrant vines.
Then she turned and looked at him attentively for the first time since
they met at the church.
"You look tired," she said, with alluring tenderness. "You look more
exhausted than I feel. And that is saying a great deal, for I am quite
out of breath."
"I am grieved that you feel so, dearest! It was selfish and thoughtless
in me to keep you walking so long," said Craven, compunctiously.
"Oh, it is nothing! But about yourself. You really look quite
prostrated."
"Do I, dearest? I am not conscious of fatigue. Though indeed I should
never be conscious of that by your dear side."
"Now tell the truth," she said, again bringing him down from his
flights. "Have you had your breakfast this morning?"
"Breakfast? I--don't remember," he said, with a perplexed air.
"Come to your senses and answer me directly. What have you taken this
morning?" she demanded, with a pretty air of authority.
"I--Let me see. I believe I bought a package of lemon-drops from a boy
that was selling them in the cars. I--I believe I have got some of them
left yet," he said, hesitating, and drawing from his pocket one of those
little white packets of candy so commonly sold on the train.
Mary Grey burst into a peal of soft, silvery laughter as she took them,
and said:
"An ounce of lemon-drops and nothing else for breakfast! Oh, Cupid, God
of Love, and Hebe, Goddess of Health, look here, and settle it between
you!"
"But I do not feel hungry. It is food enough for me to sit here and
feast upon the sight of your face, your beautiful face!"
"You frenzied boy! I see that I must take care of you. Come, now that we
have recovered our breath, we will go on a little further to a nice,
quiet, suburban inn, kept by an old maid. I have never been there
myself, but I have seen it in driving by with the rector's family. It is
such a nice place that the school children go there to have picnic
parties in the grounds. We will go and engage a parlor, and have a quiet
little breakfast or dinner, whichever you may please, for it shall
combine the luxuries of both. Now will you go?" said Mary Grey, rising
from her shady seat.
"Of course, if you wish me to do so; but indeed I do not need anything."
"But I do; for I breakfasted at seven o'clock this morning, before going
to the Sunday-school. It is now one o'clock. I have been fasting six
hours, and as I intend to spend the most of the day with you, I shall
miss our luncheon at home; for, you see, we are deadly fashionable at
the Misses Cranes'. We lunch at two and dine at six. So come along."
Craven Kyte arose and gave her his arm, and they walked on together
until they reached the little cottage, half farmhouse, half hotel, that
was so well-kept by the nice old maiden hostess.
The good woman looked rather surprised to see Sunday visitors walk into
her house.
But Mary Grey, prayer-book ostentatiously in hand, took her aside, out
of the hearing of Craven Kyte, and explained:
"I and my brother walked in from the country to attend church this
morning. We have a carriage and might have ridden, only we do not think
it is right to make the horses work on Sunday, do you?"
"No, miss, I candidly don't; and that's a fact," replied the good
creature.
"Mrs.," amended Mary Grey, with a smile.
"'Mrs.' of course! I beg your pardon, ma'am! But you looked so young,
and I may say childish, and I didn't notice the widow's cap before,"
apologized the hostess.
"Well, as we had no friends in the town--no one with whom we could stop
to dinner--I and my brother set out to walk home again. He is an
invalid, and is quite exhausted with fasting and fatigue. So perhaps,
under the circumstances, you would not mind letting us have a parlor to
rest in and a little dinner."
"Of course not, ma'am; for under such circumstances it is clearly my
duty to entertain you," answered the good soul, who, under no possible
circumstances, would have been false to her ideas of right.
"You are very kind. I thank you very much," said Mary Grey, sweetly.
"Here is a room at your and your brother's disposal, ma'am. No one will
intrude upon you here," said the hostess, opening a door that led into a
neat back parlor, whose windows overlooked the garden and orchard
attached to the house.
"Come," said Mary Grey, beckoning to her companion.
"Dear me! I never saw a brother and sister look so much alike as you two
do," remarked the hostess, admiringly, as she showed them into the back
parlor.
She left them, promising to send in a nice dinner.
"And coffee with it, if you please," added Mary Grey, as the landlady
went out.
"Yes, certainly, ma'am, if you wish it," she answered, as she
disappeared.
Mary Grey went to the back window and looked out upon the pleasant
garden, verdant and blooming with shrubs, rose-bushes and flowers.
Craven Kyte joined her.
"Did you hear that old lady call us brother and sister?" inquired the
young man.
"Yes," answered Mary Grey, with her false smile. "But I did not think it
necessary to set her right."
"And she said we looked so much alike," smiled Craven.
"We both have dark hair and dark eyes. And we are both rather thin in
flesh. That is the beginning and the ending of the likeness. And her
imagination did the rest," explained Mary Grey.
They were interrupted by a pretty mulatto girl, who came in to lay the
cloth for dinner.
And this girl continued to flit in and out of the room, bringing the
various articles of the service, until, on one of her temporary
absences, Craven Kyte exclaimed:
"I would rather have sat and fasted with you under that pretty porch of
the old road-side empty house than sit at a feast here, with that girl
always running in and out to interrupt us."
"Never mind, dear. As soon as we get something to eat we will go," said
Mary Grey, with her sweet, false smile.
In a reasonable time a dainty little dinner was placed upon the table,
consisting of broiled chickens, green corn, asparagus and mashed
potatoes, with fragrant coffee for a beverage and peaches and cream for
dessert.
When they had partaken of this, and had rested a while, Craven Kyte went
out and paid the bill. And Mary Grey again drew the landlady aside, out
of hearing of her companion, and said:
"We are so much rested and refreshed by your admirable hospitality that
my brother and myself think we shall walk back to town and attend
afternoon service."
The good hostess smiled approval, but expressed a hope that they would
not overdo themselves.
Mary Grey smiled and took leave, and walked off with her captive.
They went on until they came in front of the vacant house with the
vine-clad porch.
"Come, won't you rest here a little while?" inquired Craven Kyte, laying
his hands upon the latch of the gate.
"Yes, for a little while only," said Mary Grey, consulting her watch.
"It is now half-past three o'clock, and service commences at half-past
four. And I _must_ be at church in time for the commencement of the
service. You will go to church with me, of course," she added.
"Of course!" answered Craven Kyte, emphatically.
"I am sorry that I can not ask you to sit with me; but the fact is I
have only one seat that I can call my own in a crowded pew belonging to
the Blairs. But you can walk with me to church, and join me again after
the service," exclaimed Mary Grey.
"I should so much like to sit by your side!" said poor Craven, with a
disappointed look.
"Don't you see, my dear, it is quite impossible? The service, however,
is short, and I will join you immediately after it."
And as they talked they went in and sat down on the porch.
"This is a pretty little old-fashioned cottage. Don't you think so?"
inquired the beauty, as they looked around them.
"Very pretty," agreed her victim, who would equally have agreed to
anything she might have proposed.
"Look what a fine luxuriant garden it has behind it, all growing wild
with neglect."
"Yes."
"And the orchard back of that. See the trees bending under their loads
of ripening apples or peaches."
"Yes. It's a wonder the boys don't go in and steal them."
"No boy would enter there for love or money."
"Why?"
"Because this is the house in which Barnes killed his wife and child, in
a fit of insane jealousy; and the place has the terrible reputation of
being haunted."
"Oh!"
"Yes; it is said that the ghost of a weeping woman, carrying a weeping
child in her arms, is seen to wander through garden and orchard at all
hours of the night, or to come in and look over the beds of the sleepers
in the house, if any are found courageous enough to sleep there."
"Oh! And that is the reason, I suppose, that the house remains
untenanted?" said Craven Kyte.
"Yes, that is the reason why the house, pleasant and attractive as it
looks, remains untenanted; and why the garden and orchard, with their
wealth of flowers and fruit, remain untouched by trespassers," said Mrs.
Grey.
"It is a pity such a pretty place should be so abandoned," mused the
young man.
"It is. But, you see, family after family took it and tried to live in
it in vain. No family could stay longer than a week. It has now been
untenanted for more than a year. I have heard that the owner offers to
rent it for the paltry sum of fifty dollars a year."
"For this delightful house!"
"For this haunted house, you mean!" said Mrs. Grey.
"Oh, nonsense! I beg your forgiveness, my dearest, I did not mean that
for you, but for the gabies that believe in ghosts!" said Craven Kyte.
"Then you do not believe in ghosts?"
"I!"
"Well, I thought you did not. In fact, I knew you did not. Now I want
you to do something to please me," said the siren, laying her soft hand
upon his shoulder.
"Anything in this world, you know, I will do to please you."