Oh, dear!
If I only had some one to go with me and hold a light and--there it
is--the third time. Courage vanished. It might be some dreadful tramp
hiding and trying to drive me up-stairs, so he could get the silver, and
he would gladly murder me for ten cents--
"Tom," I cried. "Tom, come here." But Tom, my six-footer factotum, made
no response.
I could stand it no longer--the
portiere seemed fairly alive, and I
rushed out to the kitchen where Ellen sat reading the
Ledger, deep in
the horrors of The Forsaken Inn. "Ellen, I'm ashamed, but I'm really
frightened. I do believe somebody is in that horrid dark room, or in the
cellar, and where
is Tom?
"Bedad, Miss, and you've frightened the heart right out o' me. It might
be a ghost, for there are such things (Heaven help us!), and I've seen
'em in this country and in dear old Ireland, and so has Tom."
"You've seen ghosts?"
"Yes, indeed, Miss, but I've never spoke to any, for you've no right to
speak to a ghost, and if you do you will surely die." Tom now came in
and soon satisfied me that there was no living thing in the darkness, so
I sat down and listened to Ellen's experiences with ghosts.
THE FORMER MRS. WILKES.--"Now this happened in New York city, Miss, in
West 28th Street, and is every word true, for, my dear, I saw it with my
own eyes. I went to bed, about half-past nine it was this night, and I
was lying quietly in bed, looking up to the ceiling; no light on account
of the mosquitoes, and Maud, the little girl I was caring for, a romping
dear of seven or eight, a motherless child, had been tossing about
restless like, and her arm was flung over me.
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