But the leader just laughed at me when I told him my thoughts. There was no such thing as ghosts, he argued. When people were dead they were dead—and once buried in the regular way that was the end of them so far as their earthly stunts were concerned.
“I’d sooner think,” says he, “that it’s tramps.”
“Tramps?” says I.
“Sure thing. They’ve had the house to themselves since it was closed. See? And the door slamming is a trick of theirs to scare the old people away.”
Mrs. Doane came away from the telephone with flashing eyes. It was Lawyer Chew of Neponset Corners, she told us, and we remembered then that Neponset Corners was the small town across the river from New Zion, on the other hard road where the automobiles were.
“He practically ordered me to leave here,” the indignant talker galloped along, “but until Miss Ruth herself tells me to get out I’m going to stay right ... where ... I ... am. The idea of him, whose grandfather was jailed for horse stealing, and, worse, almost lynched, ordering a Danver around! My blood boils. Oh, the burden and humiliation of being a poor relation! But let him try to order Miss Ruth out of here and very probably she’ll tell him what I hardly dared to tell him. For this is her house, though, of course, to a legal fine-point, she hasn’t a deed to it yet. But everybody in the family knows that her grandpa left her the keys, and certainly, as I tell Pa, when we speculate on what we are likely to get, the old gentleman wouldn’t have ordered the keys turned over to her when he was dead and gone if he didn’t consider the place hers. Yet, even if she does inherit it—and we’ll know the truth in a day or two, when the will is read—what good will she get out of it? For who besides a recluse like Corbin Danver would want to live in a place like this?”
“It certainly is lonely enough,” says Poppy.
“Still,” the woman added quickly, “I would gladly take it if it were given to me. Yes, indeed. But I’m not Miss Ruth. While I could live here if necessary, it would bore her to death, for she loves gayety and excitement. And what is there gay and exciting around here? Even the nearest town is a community of religious fanatics, who won’t look at a talking machine or an automobile. Anything that isn’t plain bread and butter and hard work is a worldly sin in their eyes.”
“She means New Zion,” Poppy nudged me.
“Of course, as I tell Pa, I haven’t any hopes of getting this place, being no closer kin than a cousin. In fact, to that point, I haven’t the slightest idea what I will get. I tried to pump Lawyer Chew the day of the funeral, for, of course, he knows what is in the will, being the family lawyer. But could I get anything out of him? No, indeed! Nor did any of the other relations, I venture to say. The seal of the will, he explained importantly—and if there’s anything I hate next to secrecy it’s over-importance!—was not to be broken for a year. I remember my feelings that day. In his lifetime Corbin Danver had been a deep man. Always thinking and scheming. I could tell you some very unusual stories about him. And knowing him so well, I realized that he had acted to a hidden purpose, both in giving his granddaughter the keys of his house and letting his will stand unread for a year. Yet, puzzle my brain as I would, I could think of no answer to the riddle. Nor did I, as I say, get any help from Mr. Tight-mouth Chew! I was to have patience, he told me dryly. In due time I would learn if my name were mentioned in the will.”