“I should think the gray gown she wears would make any one morbid,” suggested Lillie. “But what is the use of discussing her? I believe she is just a crank with a fad,” she added.
“Who is she, and why does she go about in that queer gray gown?” inquired Nathalie, insistently.
“She is Mrs. Van Vorst, the richest woman in town,” explained Grace. “She lives in that big, gray house surrounded by the stone wall. Haven’t you noticed it? It’s on Willow Street, up on the hill. You must have seen it.”
“Oh, the big house with the beautiful Dutch garden,” exclaimed Nathalie, “and the queer little house at one side of it?”
“Yes,” nodded Helen, “but that queer little house is an ancient landmark—a Dutch homestead—built on a grant of land given by Governor Stuyvesant to Janse Van Vorst way back in 1667. The Van Vorsts, or their descendants, have lived on that place for hundreds of years. Billy Van Vorst, the last of the line, married Betty Walton, a rich New York girl. He died some years ago, and—well, I don’t know the exact story—” Helen hesitated, “but they say Mrs. Van Vorst has an awful temper—oh, I hate to tell it—and then it may not be true.”
“But it is true,” asserted Jessie Ford, “for Mother used to know Billy and Betty, too. She said shortly after Billy’s death Mrs. Van Vorst became angry with her little child—I don’t know whether it is a boy or girl—and—”
“Whatever it is,” broke in Edith, “it is all distorted and twisted, looks like a monster, for I saw it one day in the garden, the day I was there. It is always muffled up so people can’t see it.”
“Well, anyway,” went on Jessie, “Mrs. Van Vorst got into a temper with the child and shut it up in a dark room, and then went off to a reception or something, and forgot all about it.”
“Oh, how could she?” ejaculated Nathalie with a shudder.
“Well, when she came home and remembered it—it wasn’t in the room—”