“Yes, ma’am, and I can’t git away any too soon.”
“Where are you going?” asked Mabel.
“Over on Mr. Applebaum’s farm. It was his wife that the Gypsies robbed of a pocket-book,” he added. “I’m going to live with him. He’s a sort of second cousin of mine.”
“Then you’re going to desert the dear old mill.”
“Yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t stay here another night—not if you was to give me fifty dollars—yes or seventy-five dollars. No, sir!”
“Why, what is the trouble?” asked Natalie, yet by instinct she seemed to anticipate the answer.
“The hant; that’s what the matter. It’s gittin’ wuss. I wouldn’t stay here another night. I’m done!”
“The hant,” repeated Marie, not quite understanding.
“He means the haunt,” exclaimed Mabel in a whisper.
“Oh!”