Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXVII, No. 1 — page 43: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Our Co-ZLTenant —a confused tramping about the floor, so hard and heavy that the walls beside us shook; presently a fall, with asharp, metallic ring. “There goes the oven door!” exclaimed Charlie. There followed a sound as of a heavy body drawn over the floor; then came the strain and tug of lifting a weight, and then the iron door was slipped into its grooves with a clang. Simultaneously Charlie flung open the door of the room. It was quite empty, of course. A pale moonlight shone in at the unshuttered window and revealed the cobwebs on the wall—revealed, too, something which we both shuddered in looking at—a dark, irregular stain upon the floor which inevitably suggest- ed a pool of blood. ; “O, come away!” I cried, and dragged Charlie away, almost until we were well into the body of the house again. Just as we reached the head of the stairs the clock in the dining-room struck two. Charlie sat with me half an hour, but there was no further disturbance. “T guess the entertainment is over for to- night,” said Charlie. “You go to bed, Lu, and Ill finish the night on the sofa in mamma’s sitting-room. This arrangement was adopted. After a while I fell asleep. I thought I was in my first nap when Patty’s voice at my bedside awoke me. “O Miss Lu, who do you think is come? I was never to tell you, but you was to come down stairs, and find him there, and be be- side yourself in your surprise. Hurry then, for sure it’s eight o’clock, and that’s late enough for you.” And with this Patty hurried away. I dressed hastily, ran down and there was our darling old Will, alive and well. All my long heart-sickness was over. ° Ifome on a furlough! Ah! the meaning compressed into those words. O, but it should be a holiday! And it was. We were all as merry as birds. Will was, in himself, enough to bring sunshine any- where. My load was inexpressibly lightened. Ie was older than I, while all the rest were younger, and so I slipped off upon him many a care that I had borne uneasily. And first Charlie and I took him into our confidence. Ofcourse Will was incredulous, and when we had seornfully routed the whole battalion of natural causes which he had brought into the field—nerves, fancies, fears, t the Towers. 47 ilusions—he stubbornly declared himself unconvinced. “Well, you will sec,” I retorted. And that night he did so, and hear also. The whole performance of the preceding night was repeated, with scrupulous adherence to the letter of the programme. Only I had taken the precaution to install Will ina room next my own, so that at the first call he was beside me. With him near I was not much afraid, and of course a soldier who has aced the cannon’s mouth is not to be reuted by an invisible army. There is a great deal in use. Even the supernatural becomes divested of its terrors when we become accustomed to it. These singular manifestations were fre- quently repeated. We became in a measure habituated to them. All the older members of the family heard the sounds, also, except mamma, and most fortunately she was never disturbed. At last I would wake, hear the sounds be- tokening the presence in my room, and fall asleep again. Will declared it was a gentle ghost that haunted me—not the one, he was persuaded, who made the racket in the oid kitchen. One night there was a peculiarly curious phenomenon. Little Jamie had showed symptoms of the croup, and I had taken him into my bed. In the night he woke and cried—not violently but sleepily, and as if dis- turbed and uneasy. My coaxing did not stil} him. But, by-and-by, there was a low sh—sh, prolonged as a mother sometimes hushes her babe. “Will? I called. He came to me immediately, and we both heard the low, soothing noise, continued till Jamie dropped off into a quiet sleep. He was quite well in the morning, and at breakfast time startled us all by turning on me his round, blue eyes, and demanding, in his childish, peremptory way: “Who was the pretty lady ?” “ What lady ?” I asked, astonished. “Don’t you know?” he said, impatiently. “The pretty lady that. got me to sleep!” “What is the child talking about?” said mamma. “F[e has been dreaming, I suppose,” I had to say. But was it a dream ? Autumn came. Will's furlough was to last till Christmas, and we had determined to re- tain the house till Deeember, and keep our Thanksgiving there. connicloooks. cor