Mrs. Hawkins, who seldom stopped for weather, was anxious to get all her effects safely housed before the rain, or at least before night. So, very early in the morning, accompanied by Alice and attended by old Hector, she drove over to Willow Cottage to have fires lighted in the damp house, and to receive and dispose of the furniture as it should arrive. Myself and Will Rackaway, who came to help me and old Cassy, remained in charge of the house to dispatch the furniture. It was a hard day's work, I assure you. And as the twilight hours passed the sky grew darker, and the air damper and colder. A gloomier and more depressing day could scarcely be imagined. It was nearly night when at length we dispatched the last cartload of effects, locked up the house, and got into the old carryall that had returned for us. Old Cassy sat with me on the back seat, and old Hector, who drove for us, sat beside Will Rackaway, in front. The rain was now falling in a fine, slow drizzle. Perhaps it was the dark and heavy atmosphere, fatigue, and the approach of night, that so oppressed my spirits, but I well remember the feeling of gloom and terror with which I crossed the highway and entered upon the grass-grown and shadowy road, through the thicket that led to Willow Cottage. It was a very dark and silent scene--no sight but the trees, that, like lower and heavier clouds, met and hung over our heads; no sound but the stealthy, muffled turn of the wheels over the wet and fallen leaves. "The road to the haunted house is a very ghostly one! I think, for my part, Mark Tapley would have found this a fine place to get jolly in," said Will, twisting his head around to look at me. But he had quickly to recall his attention, for his first words had so upset the equanimity of our driver that he had allowed his horse to run full tilt into the trees. Will seized the reins from the shaking hands of old Hector and soon righted the carryall. At last we emerged from the thicket, and saw dimly the great open area girdled with its pine forest, of which I have already spoken. Only like a denser group of shadow was the old Willow Cottage, in the midst of its ancient trees, in the center of that open space. We followed the road through the broom sedge across the field until we drew up at the rusty iron gate of the cottage. There we alighted, and, leaving old Hector to drive the carryall around to the stable door, we entered and went up the long grass-grown walk between the black oaks, until we reached the house. The doors and window blinds were all closed, and the faint light within gleamed fitfully through the chinks where the framework was warped.