"And Sarah Jane McClean was taken sick there with fever."

"Well, they had dirt enough to account for anything. Doctor Brown told me himself that they had a great heap of potatoes sprouted in the cellar, and there ain't anything so bad as that."

The last vestige of a ghost was demolished: Miss Faithful had nothing more to say.

"It's nigh twenty-five years since the old doctor went off," said Miss Sophonisba. "It ain't very probable he's alive now; and if he is, he won't be very apt to come back: and if he is dead, he certainly won't. If he did, I'd like to ask him why he never paid father that fifty dollars. I saw Peter Phelps to-day, and he says he'll fix the place all up for us if we'll have it, but of course I wouldn't say anything about it till I'd spoken to you."

"Just as you please, Sophonisba," said Miss Faithful.

"He says he'll give us a bit of ground down on the flat for a garden, and let his man dig it up for us. I went up and looked at the house. It ain't so much out of repair as you'd think."

"Did you see the burnt spot on the floor?" asked Miss Faithful with some interest.

"Yes, I saw it--a great blackened place. Most likely he spilled some of his chemical stuff on it."

Miss Sophonisba was not, as she expressed herself, one to let the gra.s.s grow under her feet. She concluded the bargain for the house next day, and informed their landlord--who, by the by, was a son of their old neighbor, Widow Ball--of their intention to move. That gentleman was not at all pleased at the idea of losing his tenants. In vain he offered to recede from the obnoxious demand of four shillings more. Miss Sophonisba told him that she had made up her mind, and that _she_ wasn't in the habit of going back from her bargains when she had given her word, whatever other people might be.

"Well, Miss T----," said Mr. Ball, "I hope you won't repent. They've said queer things about that house ever since the old doctor went off so mysterious. Some folks said he drowned himself in that place in the cellar."

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Miss Sophonisba. "The old doctor never hurt any one when he was alive, except by borrowing money of them, and it ain't likely he'll want to do that now that he's dead; and if he did, I shouldn't let him have it."

"Well, my mother was in the house when Miss Eldridge came running up the stairs as pale as a sheet, and said he came behind her and caught hold of her shoulder."

"Joanna Eldridge was always a poor, miserable, shiftless, narvy thing,"

said Miss Sophonisba, "and half the time you couldn't believe a word she said."

"Well she was a connexion of our'n, Miss T----, and I always thought there was something in it. Narves won't account for everything."

"Well, I never trusted her a bit more for that," said Miss Sophonisba. "I know one time she told mother a long story about how you sent in a bill for shoes to Widow Sumner that James had paid you before he died, and she said you'd have made her a deal of trouble if she hadn't ha' found the receipt. A good many folks talked about it, but I always said it was just one of Joanna's stories."

Mr. Ball was put down, and took his leave.

As soon as the necessary repairs were finished the sisters moved into the house, and during that summer found reason to congratulate themselves on their change of abode. The high, airy situation was very pleasant in warm weather, and the view over the waters of the bay across to Boston and far out to sea, with the coming and departing ships, afforded much pleasure and a subject of conversation to the sisters. Their little garden on the flat throve well, and was a source of never-ending interest. They had been troubled by no ghostly visitations. Miss Sophonisba had indeed once heard a mysterious noise in the cellar, but on going down stairs she found that the cat had jumped on the hanging shelf and was helping herself out of the milk-pan.

The sisters were sitting one day toward the end of November--I think it was the twenty-fifth--in the north room, which they had made their work-room. The south room, according to the custom of our ancestors, still religiously preserved among us, was shut up "for company." The kitchen served them also for dining-room, and the largest room up stairs was their bed-chamber. Miss Sophonisba was tr.i.m.m.i.n.g a bonnet, a task for which she had an especial gift. Ladies came to her even from Boston, saying that her work had an air and style quite its own, while her charges were not nearly so high as those of the more fashionable milliners in the city. Faithful was altering a dress of her own. Both were much engaged with their work, and neither had spoken for some time. Suddenly, Faithful started slightly, and the needle dropped from her hand.

"What's the matter?" asked her sister.

"Nothing," said Faithful, rather confused.

"Yes, there is," said Miss Sophonisba. "People don't jump that way for nothing. What is it?"

"Oh, I don't know," hesitated Miss Faithful. "I guess I p.r.i.c.ked my finger."

"Umph!" said Miss Sophonisba in a very incredulous way, but she pushed her inquiries no farther.

As soon as her sister was silent, Miss Faithful's conscience began to chide her for her little evasion. Twice she opened her mouth to speak, and as often checked herself, but the third time the words were uttered: "If I tell you, Sophonisba, you will laugh at me."

"Well, that wouldn't kill you, child."

"No; but--well--it was only that I thought all of a sudden some one was standing behind my chair."

"How could you think so when there was no one there?"

"I don't know, but it felt as if there was."

"Nonsense, Faithful! If you didn't see any one, how did you know there was any one? Have you got eyes in the back of your head?"

"I didn't see it--I sort of felt so."

"'Sort of felt so!'" said Miss Sophonisba, with good-natured contempt. "If I was you, I'd take some catnip tea when I went to bed: you're kind of narvy."

Miss Faithful a.s.sented, and went on quietly with her sewing, but she changed the seat which she had occupied, with her back to the cellar door, for one close to her sister.

No further disturbance occurred till the middle of December. It had been a very windy day. The bay was tossing in long gray-green lines of waves crested with flying foam. The black savins sighed and wailed as they bent to the cutting blast. The wind was east, and it took a good deal of fire to keep the old house warm, but wood was cheap in those days, and Miss Sophonisba, though prudent and economical, was not given to what New England expressively calls "skrimping."

Miss Faithful, not feeling very well, had gone up stairs to bed soon after tea. A windy day always made her uncomfortable, recalling, too vividly perhaps, the gale in which the Federalist had gone down. Miss Sophonisba, having some work on hand which she was anxious to finish, was sitting up rather beyond her usual hour. Pausing for a moment in her sewing, she heard some one walking about in the room above her to and fro, with a regular though light step, as of bare or thinly-shod feet, on the boards.

"Why, what can ail the child," she said to herself, "to be walking about barefoot this time of night? She'll get her death of cold;" and she put down her work and went up stairs, intending to administer a sisterly lecture. To her surprise, Faithful was fast asleep in bed, and no other living creature was in the room. It could not have been the cat this time, for Puss was comfortably purring before the fire down stairs. Miss Sophonisba stood by the bed for a moment, candle in hand, listening for a repet.i.tion of the sound.

Suddenly a wilder gust shook the house perceptibly. Miss Faithful started from her sleep with a cry of terror. "Oh, I have had such a dream!" said she, clinging to her sister.

"What was it?" said Miss Sophonisba, soothing and quieting her like a child.

"I thought I was lying in bed just as I was, when all of a sudden I knew that Something had come in, and was going up and down, up and down the room."

"What was it like?" asked her sister, rather impressed in spite of herself.

"I couldn't see: it was all shifty and mist-like--like the shadow of smoke on the ground--and I couldn't tell if it was like a human being or not; but it seemed to me as if I ought to know it and what it was, and as if it was trying to make me understand something, and couldn't, just as it is when the cat sits and looks at you. You know the creature wants something, if she could tell what it was."

"She wants something out of the cupboard most generally," said Miss Sophonisba; "but go on."

"And finally," said Miss Faithful with a nervous shudder, "after it had gone back and forth two or three times--and I could hear it on the floor too, just like some one walking in their stocking-feet--it came close up to me and seemed to bend over me, or to be all around me in the air some way--I can't tell you how--and I was dreadfully scared, and woke up."

"It made a noise, did it?" said Miss Sophonisba.

"Yes; and somehow the noise made me feel as if I ought to know what it wanted and what it was."

"It was the wind," said Miss Sophonisba. "It got mixed up in your dreams, I expect. How it does blow!--fit to take the roof off. There! the cellar door has started open. That latch doesn't catch: I must go down and bolt it."

At that moment the cat rushed up the short staircase from the lower room, and springing on the bed, stood with bristling tail and glaring eyes, intently watching the door.

"Has she got a fit?" exclaimed Miss Sophonisba; and she put out her hand to push the cat off, but it turned to Miss Faithful, who was sitting up in bed, and crawling under the bed-clothes, lay there trembling and mewing in a very curious fashion.

"Some one has got in down stairs," said Miss Faithful, turning white. "Oh, Sophonisba, we shall all be murdered!"

"Nonsense!" said Miss Sophonisba, quite restored to herself at the thought of actual danger. She caught up a great pair of tongs and started down stairs, the candlestick in one hand, the tongs in the other, Miss Faithful, who dared not stay behind, threw a shawl over her night-dress and followed close at her sister's heels, while the cat crawled still farther under the clothes, and refused to answer to Miss Sophonisba's call. There was nothing unusual down stairs. The two outside doors were locked, the fire was burning brightly, and Miss Sophonisba's work lay on the table just as she had left it. The cellar door indeed, which latched imperfectly, stood open.

"Some one has come in and locked the door after them, and gone down cellar," was Miss Faithful's whispered suggestion.