“I have telephoned Bradley not to send his men over on Monday. My son is bringing his wife home. They may be here all summer. The place belongs to them now. Did Chauncey tell you? Mr. Paul writes that he has some building plans of his own, and he wishes everything left as it is for the present, especially this house. He wants his wife to see it first just as it is.”
“Well, to be sure! They've been traveling a long time, haven't they? And how is his health now?”
“Oh, he is very well indeed. You will be glad not to have the trouble of those carpenters, Cerissa? Pulling down old houses is dirty work.”
“Oh, dear! I wouldn't mind the dirt. Anything to get rid of that old rat's nest on top of the kitchen chamber. I hate to have such out of the way places on my mind. I can't get around to do every single thing, and it's years—years, Mrs. Bogardus, since I could get a woman to do a half-day's cleaning up there in broad daylight!”
Mrs. Bogardus stared. What was the woman talking about!
“I call it a regular eyesore on the looks of the house besides. And it keeps all the old stories alive.”
“What stories?”
“Why, of course your father wasn't out of his head—we all know that—when he built that upstairs room and slep' there and locked himself in every night of his life. It was only on one point he was a little warped: the fear of bein' robbed. A natural fear, too,—an old man over eighty livin' in such a lonesome place and known to be well off. But—you'll excuse my repeating the talk—but the story goes now that he re'ly went insane and was confined up there all the last years of his life. And that's why the windows have got bars acrost them. Everybody notices it, and they ask questions. It's real embarrassin', for of course I don't want to discuss the family.”
“Who asks questions?” Mrs. Bogardus's eyes were hard to meet when her voice took that tone.
“Why, the city folks out driving. They often drive in the big gate and make the circle through the grounds, and they're always struck when they see that tower bedroom with windows like a prison. They say, 'What's the story about that room, up there?'”