“But that wasn’t all.  The father came home, right in the midst of it; the child was just buried, and he was beside himself.  And—­he went on the track of his wife, and he found her, and he shot her dead; it was in all the papers at the time; then he disappeared.  Nothing had been seen of him since.  Mrs. Dennison said that she thought he had either made way with himself or got out of the country, nobody knew, but they did know there was something wrong with the house.

“’I knew folks acted queer when they asked me how I liked it when we first came here,’ says Mrs. Dennison, ’but I never dreamed why till we saw the child that night.’

“I never heard anything like it in my life,” said Mrs. Emerson, staring at the other woman with awestruck eyes.

“I thought you’d say so,” said Mrs. Meserve.  “You don’t wonder that I ain’t disposed to speak light when I hear there is anything queer about a house, do you?”

“No, I don’t, after that,” Mrs. Emerson said.

“But that ain’t all,” said Mrs. Meserve.

“Did you see it again?” Mrs. Emerson asked.

“Yes, I saw it a number of times before the last time.  It was lucky I wasn’t nervous, or I never could have stayed there, much as I liked the place and much as I thought of those two women; they were beautiful women, and no mistake.  I loved those women.  I hope Mrs. Dennison will come and see me sometime.

“Well, I stayed, and I never knew when I’d see that child.  I got so I was very careful to bring everything of mine upstairs, and not leave any little thing in my room that needed doing, for fear she would come lugging up my coat or hat or gloves or I’d find things done when there’d been no live being in the room to do them.  I can’t tell you how I dreaded seeing her; and worse than the seeing her was the hearing her say, ‘I can’t find my mother.’  It was enough to make your blood run cold.  I never heard a living child cry for its mother that was anything so pitiful as that dead one.  It was enough to break your heart.

“She used to come and say that to Mrs. Bird oftener than to any one else.  Once I heard Mrs. Bird say she wondered if it was possible that the poor little thing couldn’t really find her mother in the other world, she had been such a wicked woman.

“But Mrs. Dennison told her she didn’t think she ought to speak so nor even think so, and Mrs. Bird said she shouldn’t wonder if she was right.  Mrs. Bird was always very easy to put in the wrong.  She was a good woman, and one that couldn’t do things enough for other folks.  It seemed as if that was what she lived on.  I don’t think she was ever so scared by that poor little ghost, as much as she pitied it, and she was ’most heartbroken because she couldn’t do anything for it, as she could have done for a live child.

“’It seems to me sometimes as if I should die if I can’t get that awful little white robe off that child and get her in some clothes and feed her and stop her looking for her mother,’ I heard her say once, and she was in earnest.  She cried when she said it.  That wasn’t long before she died.