The Haunted Homestead: A NovelSouthworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
Science
The Haunted Homestead: A Novel
Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
Fiction
Many times during the day, and many times since, have I wondered what
made her marry, and if she really loved the bearish-looking man who
occasionally stalked into the room, smoking cigars and talking very
loudly, when he knew how her head was throbbing with pain.
I had eaten but little breakfast that morning, and verily I thought I
should famish before their dinner hour arrived; and when at last it
came, and I saw the table glittering with silver, I felt many misgivings
as to my ability to acquit myself creditably. But by dint of watching
Nellie, doing just what she did, and refusing just what she refused, I
managed to get through with it tolerably well. For once, too, in my life
I drank all the wine I wanted; the result of which was that long before
sunset I went home, crying and vomiting with the sick headache, which
Sally said "served me right;" at the same time hinting her belief that I
was slightly intoxicated!
CHAPTER III.
THE HAUNTED HOUSE.
Down our long, green lane, and at the further extremity of the narrow
footpath which led to the "old mine," was another path or wagon road
which wound along among the fern bushes, under the chestnut trees,
across the hemlock swamp, and up to a grassy ridge which overlooked a
small pond, said, of course, to have no bottom. Fully crediting this
story, and knowing, moreover, that China was opposite to us, I had often
taken down my atlas and hunted through that ancient empire, in hopes of
finding a corresponding sheet of water. Failing to do so I had made one
with my pencil, writing against it, "Cranberry Pond," that being the
name of its American brother.
Just above the pond on the grassy ridge stood an old dilapidated
building which had long borne the name of the "haunted house," I never
knew whether this title was given it on account of its proximity to the
"old mine," or because it stood near the very spot where, years and
years ago, the "bloody Indians" pushed those cart-loads of burning hemp
against the doors "of the only remaining house in Quaboag"--for which
see Goodrich's Child's History, page --, somewhere toward the
commencement. I only know that 'twas called the "haunted house," and
that for a long time no one would live there, on account of the rapping,
dancing, and cutting-up generally which was said to prevail there,
particularly in the west room, the one overhung with ivy and grapevines.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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