Thankful's Inheritance Part 4

There was no answer. No sounds except those of the storm. Thankful picked up the comforter.

"Humph!" she said aloud--talking to herself was a habit developed during the years of housekeeping for deaf old Mrs. Pearson. "Humph! I must be gettin' nerves, I guess."

She began folding the old quilt in order to make it easier to carry downstairs. And then she heard another groan, or sigh, or combination of both. It sounded, not outside the window or outside the house, but in that very room.

Again Mrs. Barnes dropped the comforter. Also she went out of the room.

But she did not go far. Halfway across the floor of the adjoining room she stopped and put her foot down, physically and mentally.

"Fool!" she said, disgustedly. Then, turning on her heel, she marched back to the little bedroom and picked up the lantern; its flame had dwindled to the feeblest of feeble sparks.

"Now then," said Thankful, with determination, "whoever--or--or whatever thing you are that's makin' that noise you might just as well show yourself. If you're hidin' you'd better come out, for I'll find you."

But no one or no "thing" came out. Thankful waited a moment and then proceeded to give that room a very thorough looking-over. It was such a small apartment that the process took but little time. There was no closet. Except for the one window and the door by which she had entered, the four walls, covered with old-fashioned ugly paper, had no openings of any kind. There could be no attic or empty s.p.a.ce above the ceiling because she could hear the rain upon the sloping roof. She looked under the bed and found nothing but dust. She looked in the bed, even under the rocking-chair.

"Well, there!" she muttered. "I said it and I was right. I AM gettin'

to be a nervous old fool. I'm glad Emily ain't here to see me. And yet I did--I swear I did hear somethin'."

The pictures on the wall by the window caught her eye. She walked over and looked at them. The lantern gave so little light that she could scarcely see anything, but she managed to make out that one was a dingy chromo with a Scriptural subject. The other was a battered "crayon enlargement," a portrait of a man, a middle-aged man with a chin beard.

There was something familiar about the face in the portrait. Something--

Thankful gasped. "Uncle Abner!" she cried. "Why--why--"

Then the lantern flame gave a last feeble sputter and went out. She heard the groan again. And in that room, the room she had examined so carefully, so close as to seem almost at her very ear, a faint voice wailed agonizingly, "Oh, Lord!"

Thankful went away. She left the comforter and the lantern upon the floor and she did not stop to close the door of the little bedroom.

Through the black darkness of the long hall she rushed and down the creaky stairs. Her entrance to the sitting-room was more noisy than her exit had been and Miss Howes stirred upon the sofa and opened her eyes.

"Auntie!" she cried, sharply. "Aunt Thankful, where are you?"

"I'm--I'm here, Emily. That is, I guess--yes, I'm here."

"But why is it so dark? Where is the lantern?"

"The lantern?" Mrs. Barnes was trying to speak calmly but, between agitation and loss of breath, she found it hard work. "The lantern?

Why--it's--it's gone," she said.

"Gone? What do you mean? Where has it gone?"

"It's gone--gone out. There wa'n't enough oil in it to last any longer, I suppose."

"Oh!" Emily sat up. "And you've been sitting here alone in the dark while I have been asleep. How dreadful for you! Why didn't you speak to me? Has anything happened? Hasn't that man come back yet?"

It was the last question which Thankful answered. "No. No, he ain't come back yet," she said. "But he will pretty soon, I'm sure. He--he will, Emily, don't you fret."

"Oh, I'm not worried, Auntie. I am too sleepy to worry, I guess."

"Sleepy! You're not goin' to sleep AGAIN, are you?"

Mrs. Barnes didn't mean to ask this question; certainly she did not mean to ask it with such evident anxiety. Emily noticed the tone and wondered.

"Why, no," she said. "I think not. Of course I'm not. But what made you speak in that way? You're not frightened, are you?"

Thankful made a brave effort.

"Frightened!" she repeated, stoutly. "What on earth should I be frightened of, I'd like to know?"

"Why, nothing, I hope."

"I should say not. I--Good heavens above! What's that?"

She started and clutched her companion by the arm. They both listened.

"I don't hear anything but the storm," said Emily. "Why, Auntie, you ARE frightened; you're trembling. I do believe there is something."

Thankful s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away.

"There isn't," she declared. "Of course there isn't."

"Then why are you so nervous?"

"Me? Nervous! Emily Howes, don't you ever say that to me again. I ain't nervous and I ain't goin' to be nervous. There's no--no sane reason why I should be and I shan't. I shan't!"

"But, Auntie, you are. Oh, what is it?"

"Nothin'. Nothin' at all, I tell you. The idea!" with an attempt at a laugh. "The idea of you thinkin' I'm nervous. Young folks like you or rich old women are the only ones who can afford nerves. I ain't either young nor rich."

Emily laughed, too. This speech was natural and characteristic.

"If you were a nervous wreck," she said, "it would be no wonder, all alone in the dark as you have been in a deserted house like this. I can't forgive myself for falling asleep. Whose house do you suppose it is?"

Aunt Thankful did not answer. Emily went on. Her short nap had revived her courage and spirit.

"Perhaps it is a haunted house," she said, jokingly. "Every village has a haunted house, you know. Perhaps that's why the stage-driver warned us not to go into it."

To her surprise Mrs. Barnes seemed to take offense at this attempt at humor.

"Don't talk silly," she snapped. "If I've lived all these years and been as down on spooks and long-haired mediums as I've been, and then to--there--there! Don't let's be idiots altogether. Talk about somethin'

else. Talk about that depot-wagon driver and his pesky go-cart that got us into this mess. There's plenty of things I'd like to say about THEM."

They talked, in low tones. Conversation there in the dark and under such circ.u.mstances, was rather difficult. Emily, although she was determined not to admit it, was growing alarmed for the return of Winnie S. and his promised rescue expedition. Aunt Thankful was thinking of the little back bedroom upstairs. An utter lack of superst.i.tion was something upon which she had prided herself. But now, as she thought of that room, of the portrait on the wall, and what she had heard--

"Listen!" whispered Emily, suddenly. "Listen! I--I thought I heard something."

Mrs. Barnes leaned forward.

"What? Where? Upstairs?" she asked, breathlessly.

"No. Out--out there somewhere." She pointed in the direction of the front hall. "It sounded as if someone had tried the front door. Hark!

There it is again."