There ain't any ghost in that room--the one
Solomon's in."
"In THAT room? Is there one in another room?"
"Now, Emily--"
"Aunt Thankful, there is something strange in some room; don't deny it.
You aren't accustomed to deceiving people, and you can't deceive me now.
Tell me the truth."
"Well, Emily, it's all such perfect foolishness. You don't believe in
ghosts, do you?"
"Of course I don't."
"Neither do I. Whatever it is that snores and groans in that little back
room ain't--"
"AUNTIE! What DO you mean?"
Thankful was cornered. Her attempts at evasion were useless and, little
by little, Emily drew from her the story of the little back bedroom, of
her own experience there the night of their first visit, of what Winnie
S. had said concerning the haunting of the "Cap'n Abner place," and of
Miss Timpson's "warning." She told it in a low tone, so as not to awaken
Georgie, and, as she spoke, the wind shrieked and wailed and groaned,
the blinds creaked, the water dripped and gurgled in the gutters, and
the shadows outside the circle of light from the little hand lamp were
black and threatening. Emily, as she listened, felt the cold shivers
running up and down her spine. It is one thing to scoff at superstition
in the bright sunlight; it is quite another to listen to a tale like
this on a night like this in a house a hundred years old. Miss Howes
scoffed, it is true, but the scoffing was not convincing.
"Nonsense!" she said, stoutly. "A ghost that snores? Who ever heard of
such a thing?"
"Nobody ever did, I guess," Thankful admitted.
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