"The Lord betune us and harm!" "Hush, honey! Don't let on! We's gwine 'way; but de family don't want it should be known as dey leave for sich a cause." "I unnerstans! The saints betune us an' sin!" A few days after this conversation Mr. Ferguson's family left the Willow Cottage; and the excitement of the neighborhood upon the subject of the haunted homestead received a tremendous impetus. As it had been once visited from motives of incredulous curiosity, it was now avoided in the spirit of superstitious dread. It was believed to be unlucky to the visitor. All the worst rumors about the former proprietors were revived and credited. It was said that a curse rested upon the house where marriage faith and friendship's trust and hospitality's laws had each in succession been basely betrayed--upon the house of three reputed murders! Only Mrs. Hawkins stoutly stood up for the defense of the Willow Cottage. "Three murders! nonsense! three stage plays! The doctor's young wife fretted herself into illness, and died of heart disease, poor thing. She was not, therefore, murdered. The old doctor himself lived to a good age and died in a fit. Was he murdered? I guess the coroner's jury knew! The unhappy young man Keats lost his life in a sinful revel--a warning to all youth. What guilt, then, rests upon the comfortable home and beautiful garden? Did they suggest wine-bibbing and brawling? Pshaw! I am ashamed of people's want of logic. Only wait until my term is up here, and then see if I do not move into the house, and stay in it, too!" This decision of Mrs. Hawkins produced different effects upon each of her family. I for my own part had a natural turn for melodramatic heroism--admired Joan of Arc, Margaret of Norway, Philippa of Hainault, and all the lion-hearted, eagle-eyed, battle-ax heroines--and wished for the opportunity of imitating them. I had an aspiring, courageous spirit, but weak nerves; and so I stoutly seconded the move to move, though my heart quailed at the idea of our living alone in the haunted house. Ally's trust in her grandmother was so perfect that she resigned herself in confidence to her decision. The old negroes were possessed with the direst fore-bodings, but feeling that it would be vain to remonstrate, only shook their heads and muttered something to the effect that "old mist'ess'" confidence in herself would be sure to have a check some day. Mrs. Hawkins was as good as her word. She began in her steady, energetic way to tie up parcels and pack boxes of such things as were not in daily use, in anticipation of moving. There was no competition for the possession of the deserted mansion. Mrs. Hawkins engaged it at a very moderate rate of rent. And upon the 31st of October--the ghostly anniversary of Hallow E'en--a day ever to be remembered, we began our removal to the haunted house. It was a dark, overcast day.