NEW ENGLAND GIRLS AND THEIR CHAPERON, FROM THE NEW ENGLAND KITCHEN.
“One traveller, who had entered the road at dusk, had never been heard of again.
“After these events any one who saw the window at night took to his heels, and at last few persons would go through the woods after dark, except in a carriage or in company.
“The Dedham woods began to bear a bad reputation, but the dark events that had happened there were assigned to ghosts, and the vanishing window and light were spoken of as the ‘Phantom inn that travelled away.’
“Was I ever afraid when riding alone in the old Dedham woods? I always speak plainly, and I must say that I sometimes was. A sort of shadow of a fear would come over me.
“I never believed in ghosts or haunted houses after my early years. Yet a superstitious nature clings to me. It has often made me feel creepy, until I stopped to reason. It stands to reason that dead folks don’t appear with leather boots on, and hats and buttons and clothes woven in looms.
“The Dedham woods used to be a lonely place. It is mostly farms now. They stretched then away toward the coast. There were no towns like Hyde Park then; no Ponkapoag with villas; no costly summer homes.
“The sunlit spaces between the trees were full of bluejays, that would eye the coach with outstretched necks. I can seem to see them now.
“The Indian-pipe used to grow by the wayside, and back of it wild roses and green brakes and clematis, which bloomed and feathered late. The horses liked to slack up in summer, and walk under the cool shadows of the trees.
“Oh, those were lonely roads in winter. The winds used to whistle like this—woo-oo-oo. Just as though they were spinning—woo-oo-oo. They seemed to catch the spirit of the sea, which was not many miles away—woo-oo-oo; like that.
“People began to move away to York State. They called it up ‘country’ then. The Mohawk valley seemed as far away at that time as the prairies do now.
“I had a good offer to go to Albany and take a stage-route from there to Buffalo. I caught the up ‘country’ fever, and resolved to go.
“I may seem weak, but one of my greatest regrets on parting was that I would have to leave my old friend Silas, and I might never see him again.
“One day as I was stopping at the old Scituate inn, just before setting out for Albany, I met a stranger there. He called himself Searle. I shall never forget the eyes of that man. There seemed to be a hidden spirit, not himself, looking through them. They reminded me at once of the travelling window and light, or the Phantom inn.
“But Silas, the dog—I never met such a mystery as when the dog’s eyes first met those of that man. It used to be said in old New England times that dogs would see ghosts coming, and start up and howl, before people could see them. That dog seemed to see something mysterious in that man’s eyes.
“He leaped into the air when Searle appeared, and said ‘Silas.’
He then shook all over, dropped on his feet, and ran around me, whining in a fearful tone. What did it mean? I have thought of it an hundred times—what did it mean?
“‘Goin’ up country, I hear,’ said Searle.
“‘Yes, I have concluded to take the Albany route,’ said I. ‘There is more money in it.’
“‘Goin’ to take your dog here along with you? He’s a fine one.’
“‘No,’ said I; ‘I’ll have to go by the way of New York, and up the river to Albany, and I must leave him behind. If I were going by the way of Springfield I would take him along. I set a store by that dog.’
“‘Don’t want to sell him, do ye?’
“There came a strange light into the man’s eyes. I cannot describe it. It made me think of the travelling window in the woods again.
“I hesitated.
“‘Stranger,’ said I at last, ‘where do you live?’
“‘Oh, in a lonely place down by the Dedham ponds. They say it’s getting dangerous there, and I want a dog. I need one. Say, as you’re goin’ off, what will you take for him?’
“‘I don’t know; I wouldn’t sell him for anything if I didn’t have to.’
“‘I’ll give you ten dollars for him. That is high, but I’m lonely like, and they say them woods are getting dangerous. What do you say?’
“‘You may have him.’
“I felt somehow that I had done an unworthy thing,—that I had sold my dog to an unworthy master. That dog had such a true nature that he would never have tricked me with any act.
“How should I part with Silas? I felt my head ache at the thought of it—the dog had been so faithful. I decided I would have Searle put a rope on his collar, and would leave him in the evening in the office of the inn with him, and so steal away from him unknown. I did so,—and if ever I felt like a coward, it was then.
“Five years passed, when one November day I received a letter. My old friends, the Whites, had remembered me, and they invited me to spend Thanksgiving with them at Green Harbor.
“Wife’s folks lived in the old town of Dedham, and she urged me to accept the invitation, as she wished to go with me to Dedham. Her folks were getting old—but, poor woman, they outlived her.
“So I secured a driver to take my place for a few weeks, and we set out together for Boston and Dedham. One day, late in November, I left my wife among her folks, and set out, intending to walk over to Weymouth to see some friends, and there to take the stage for Marshfield.
DETAIL OF STATUE SOUTH OF MANUFACTURES BUILDING.
“I had expected to start in the morning and make a day of it, but I was delayed until the afternoon. It was delightful Indian summer weather, and I did not mind a night walk, as I could rest in Weymouth.
“‘Don’t stop at the Phantom inn,’ said my wife, as we parted.
IRISH VILLAGE,—BLARNEY CASTLE.
“‘I sha’n’t stop at no phantom inns,’ said I, ‘if I expect to reach Randolph to-night. There will no acorns sprout under my feet.’
“‘But,’ said my wife’s mother, ‘they do tell strange stories still about those woods. Are you armed?’
“‘Yes, as much as I ever am.’
“‘But you used to keep a dog.’
“I stalked away, laughing.
“Nightfall overtook me on the border of the old Dedham woods.
“I remember the strange mysterious feeling that came over me as I entered the shadow of the pines of that lonely road among the skeleton trees. I stopped and looked back.
“As I stood listening, there came a vivid impression that somehow I was in the companionship of the old coach dog, as I used to be. I could feel my heart shrink as I recalled how meanly I had treated him, and I eased my conscience with the reflection that I had done as well for him, and myself, as I could.
“That a dog might make his presence felt in some way by electrical force is possible I cannot say, but I repeat it,—I seemed to feel that the old coach dog was somewhere near me in these woods, and had a sense that I was there.
“I entered the lonely way, when another strange thing began to haunt me. It was the eyes of Searle. I had never forgotten them. I could almost see them again now. Every rattle in the savin bushes seemed to bring them back again.
“As I walked along with a witch-hazel stick for a cane, a great light rose like a fire among the tops of the gray rocks and skeleton trees. It was a full hunter’s moon coming up from the sea. After a time it went into a cloud, but the way was still clear. It was almost as still as death.
“Occasionally a timid rabbit would cross the way; once a white rabbit leaped out before me, and I felt my heart beat, and thought again of the old coach dog, Searle’s dreadful eyes, and the tales of the Phantom inn, at which I used to laugh when I drove the cape stage.
“The way grew more lonely, amid the oaks and the russet leaves, savins, pines, and rocks. In places the road was strewn with fallen nuts, and at some points with rustling leaves. Once the eyes of a white owl confronted me on a decaying limb—I thought again of Searle.
“I hurried on, hoping to reach Randolph before midnight, when suddenly I heard a sound that stopped my feet at once and sent a chill over me. It was a hollow tone, like the ringing of a supper-bell, such as used to be common in the farmhouses and inns.
“I looked in the direction of the sound, when I saw a little way from the road a window and a light among the trees. I stopped nervously.
“‘Is it imagination,’ I asked myself. ‘Is it a dream of the old story? Shall I run, or turn toward the bell?’
“I was frightened and my heart beat, but I am not a man to run. After hesitating for a few moments I turned into the wood in the direction of the window and the light, and found a path there which I began to follow cautiously.
“I walked to the place where I had first heard the bell and seen the window and the light, but the window and the light were apparently as far away now as when I started from the road. As I watched I could see it move back, but I could hear nothing.
“I stopped again. The window and the light soon seemed to stop. Should I run? No. I would shout. So I cried out, ‘Hullo!’
“The rocks answered my loud call with many echoes. A startled partridge rose on whirring wings from some wild alder-bushes near me. Then all was still, or—did I imagine it?—I thought I could hear the low piteous suppressed whine of a dog. The light vanished.
“I knew not what to do. I was unarmed. I went forward very slowly and cautiously, when the path grew soft, and the earth began to crumble beneath my feet. I paused and listened.
“A cry pierced the hollow air. How can I describe it? It thrilled every nerve in my body. I can hear it now; it seemed as though all the intensity of a human heart was in it—it said, it shrieked as the cry of some pent-up force,—it said,—
“‘Silas!’
“I knew the voice. It was a warning tone. I knew that dog’s tone of warning. I stepped back and listened again.
“I heard a struggle down in the distance. Where was I? It came to me. I was on the border of a ledge of rocks. Below me was a pond. Had I taken a few steps more I would have gone over into the water.
“I felt that the way led to a false projection over the water. I had been drawn toward a trap to destroy me. I felt the situation then as clearly as I can see it now.
“My every nerve quivered with terror, but my will grew stronger than ever before. I never knew how strong or how weak I was till then.
“As I stood listening, a fearful oath rose from the pond. Then all was still. I looked up to the sky. It was the only object that seemed friendly. The clouds parted below the hunter’s moon, and a wide silvery light swept over the scene. I was surely on a projecting edge of rock, or platform, over a pond.
“Suddenly I heard a sound in the bushes. It was a patter of feet. A dog came bounding out of the savins toward me. He rose up, springing as it were into the air, shook his paws, and cried,—I can hear it now,—
“‘Silas!’
“It was my old coach dog.
“I hurried back to the road, followed by the dog. Was it a dream? What had happened?
“At near midnight I came to my old friend’s farmhouse at Randolph, and roused the family. Before any one could speak I pointed to the dog.
“‘Tell me, for heaven’s sake, what is that?’ I cried.
“‘That is a dog,’ said my old friend, the farmer,—‘your old coach dog. What did you think it was? Where did you find him?’
“We went the next morning to the scene of my night’s adventure. One of the first things that we saw was the dead body of Searle, floating on the pond.
SCENE IN OLD VIENNA.