Built I the lofty tower,
Which to this very hour
Stands looking seaward,”
chanted Fred, stretching out his hand with a magnificent air towards the old tower.
“That’s nice,” said Maggie, with a satisfied nod of her curly head. “I shall just believe that. It’s a great deal nicer than to think it was just a common old windmill for grinding up corn.”
“I shan’t,” said matter-of-fact Bessie, “not when Uncle Horace says it’s not true.”
“I don’t see that any one can be very sure what it was,” said Maggie, determined to have faith in the most romantic story, “and I shall make up my mind it was the lady’s bower. But what about the skeleton, Fred?”
“Oh! Mr. Longfellow goes on to say how the lady died, and her husband could not bear to live without her; so he went out into the woods and killed himself, and the skeleton in armor which was really found is supposed to be his.”
“He oughtn’t to kill hisse’f. He ought to wait till Dod killed him,” said Frankie, who had been listening with great interest to the story. “He could play with all these nice chillen, if he’d ’haved hisself.”