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Down our long, green lane, and at the farther extremity
of the narrow foot-path 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 't was 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 by creepers
and grape-vines.

Three or four years before our story opens, a widow

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lady, Mrs. Hudson, with her only daughter, Mabel, appeared
in our neighborhood, hiring the “haunted house,”
and, in spite of the neighbors' predictions to the contrary,
living there quietly and peaceably, unharmed by ghost or
goblin. At first, Mrs. Hudson was looked upon with distrust,
and even a league with a certain old fellow was
hinted at; but as she seemed to be well disposed, kind,
and affable toward all, this feeling gradually wore away,
and now she was universally liked, while Mabel, her
daughter, was a general favorite. For two years past,
Mabel had worked in the Fiskdale factory a portion of
the time, going to school the remainder of the year. She
was fitting herself for a teacher, and as the school in our
district was small, the trustees had this summer kindly
offered it to her. This arrangement delighted me; for,
next to Nellie Gilbert, I loved Mabel Hudson best of
anybody; and I fancied, too, that they looked alike, but
of course it was all fancy.

Mrs. Hudson was a tailoress, and the day following my
visit to Mr. Gilbert's I was sent by mother to take her
some work. I found her in the little porch, her white
cap-border falling over her placid face, and her wide
checked apron coming nearly to the bottom of her dress.
Mabel was there, too, and as she arose to receive me,
something about her reminded me of Adaline Gilbert. I
could not tell what it was, for Mabel was very beautiful,
and beside her Adaline would be plain; still, there was a
resemblance, either in voice or manner, and this it was,
perhaps, which made me so soon mention the Gilberts,
and my visit to them the day previous.

Instantly Mrs. Hudson and Mabel exchanged glances,
and I thought the face of the former grew a shade paler;
still, I may have been mistaken, for, in her usual tone of
voice, she began to ask me numberless questions

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concerning the family, which seemed singular, as she was not remarkable
for curiosity. But it suited me. I loved to
talk then not less than I do now, and in a few minutes I
had told all I knew, and more, too, most likely.

At last, Mrs. Hudson asked about Mr. Gilbert, and how
I liked him.

“Not a bit,” said I. “He's the hatefulest, crossest,
big-feelingest man I ever saw, and Adaline is just like
him!”

Had I been a little older I might, perhaps, have wondered
at the crimson flush which my hasty words brought
to Mrs. Hudson's cheek, but I did not notice it then, and
thinking she was, of course, highly entertained, I continued
to talk about Mr. Gilbert and Adaline, in the last of
whom Mabel seemed the most interested. Of Nellie I
spoke with the utmost affection, and when Mrs. Hudson
expressed a wish to see her, I promised, if possible, to
bring her there; then, as I had already outstaid the time
for which permission had been given, I tied on my sun-bonnet
and started for home, revolving the ways and
means by which I should keep my promise.

This proved to be a very easy matter; for, within a
few days, Nellie came to return my visit, and as mother
had other company, she the more readily gave us permission
to go where we pleased. Nellie had a perfect passion
for ghost and witch stories, saying, though, that “she
never liked to have them explained—she'd rather they'd
be left in solemn mystery;” so when I told her of the
“old mine” and the “haunted house,” she immediately
expressed a desire to see them. Hiding our bonnets under
our aprons, the better to conceal our intentions from
sister Lizzie, who, we fancied, had serious thoughts of
tagging, we sent her up stairs in quest of something
which we knew was not there, and then away we

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scampered down the green lane and across the pasture, dropping
once into some alders as Lizzie's yellow hair became
visible on the fence at the foot of the lane. Our consciences
smote us a little, but we kept still until she returned
to the house; then, continuing our way, we soon
came in sight of the mine, which Nellie determined to
explore.

It was in vain that I tried to dissuade her from the attempt.
She was resolved, and stationing myself at a safe
distance, I waited while she scrambled over stones, sticks,
logs, and bushes, until she finally disappeared in the cave.
Ere long, however, she returned with soiled pantalets, torn
apron, and scratched face, saying that “the mine was nothing
in the world but a hole in the ground, and a mighty
little one at that.” After this, I didn't know but I would
sometime venture in, but for fear of what might happen,
I concluded to choose a time when I had 'nt run away
from Liz!

When I presented Nellie to Mrs. Hudson, she took
both her hands in hers, and, greatly to my surprise, kissed
her on both cheeks. Then she walked hastily into the
next room, but not until I saw something fall from her
eyes, which I am sure were tears.

“Funny, isn't it?” said Nellie, looking wonderingly at
me. “I don't know whether to laugh, or what.”

Mabel now came in, and though she manifested no particular
emotion, she was exceedingly kind to Nellie, asking
her many questions, and sometimes smoothing her
brown curls. When Mrs. Hudson again appeared, she
was very calm, but I noticed that her eyes constantly
rested upon Nellie, who, with Mabel's gray kitten in her
lap, was seated upon the door-step, the very image of
childish innocence and beauty. Mrs. Hudson urged us to
stay to tea, but I declined, knowing that there was

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company at home, with three kinds of cake, besides cookies,
for supper. So bidding her good-by, and promising to
come again, we started homeward, where we found the
ladies discussing their green tea and making large inroads
upon the three kinds of cake.

One of them, a Mrs. Thompson, was gifted with the art
of fortune-telling, by means of tea-grounds, and when
Nellie and I took our seats at the table, she kindly offered
to see what was in store for us. She had frequently told
my fortune, each time managing to fish up a freckle-faced
boy, so nearly resembling her grandson, my particular
aversion, that I did n't care to hear it again. But
with Nellie 't was all new, and after a great whirling of
tea grounds and staining of mother's best table-cloth, she
passed her cup to Mrs. Thompson, confidently whispering
to me that she guessed she'd tell her something about
Willie Raymond, who lived in the city, and who gave her
the little cornelian ring which she wore. With the utmost
gravity Mrs. Thompson read off the past and present,
and then peering far into the future, she suddenly
exclaimed, “Oh my! there's a gulf, or something, before
you, and you are going to tumble into it headlong; don't
ask me anything more.”

I never did and never shall believe in fortune-telling,
much less in Granny Thompson's “turned up cups,” but
years after, I thought of her prediction with regard to
Nellie. Poor, poor Nellie!

p598-176

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