“It was quiet enough now. The sycamore shaded the grass-grown track, and a branch, twisted and broken by some storm, hung by a strip of bark from the big bough that stretched across the road above my head, swaying, with limp leaves, a little in the wind; a dense dogwood bush in full bloom among the young pines, filled a fence-corner down the disused road where old Joel had bowed to me from his phantom cart the night before. But it was hard to believe that these were the things which had created such impressions on my mind--as hard to believe as that the quiet cottage peering out from amid the mass of peach-bloom on the other slope was one hour the home of such happiness, and the next the scene of such a tragedy.” Once more he put his hand suddenly before his face as though to shut out something from his vision. “Yes, I have seen apparitions,” he said, thoughtfully, “but I have seen what was worse.” End of Project Gutenberg's The Spectre In The Cart, by Thomas Nelson Page