As Eliza had come from England she was called "English Eliza." She was a good-hearted, resolute girl. She became a great friend to Obed, whom her warm heart pitied, owing to her own hard and solitary lot.
It was the last day of October. There had been a warm rain, which had kept Obed and English Eliza from the husk heap. The weather had suddenly changed towards evening. A chill had come down from the north, and the family and work-people had gathered after supper around the crackling fire. Mr. Miller sat shelling corn with a cob, and Mrs. Miller began to knit by the tallow candle.
The work-people told stories. These stories were of a strange and exciting kind, and related to the times of the Indian war, or to people with haunted consciences who thought that they had seen ghosts. Young people listened to such tales in terror. English Eliza had never heard these tales before or any narratives like them. She saw that the ghost stories filled Obed with fear, and she pitied him.
On this particular night, after a story had been told that made Obed sit close to an older farm-hand, Mrs. Miller paused in her work, and, lifting her brows, said,
"There, English Eliza, what do you think of such doin's as that?"
Eliza looked at Obed, and his fixed eyes and white face nerved her to make a very honest and resolute answer.
"I don't believe in ghosts, marm."
"Why, Eliza?"
"Honest people never see 'em; if they think they do, they find them out. It is folks with haunted consciences that see such things, marm; folks with something wrong, or touched in mind, marm. I wouldn't be afraid to go right into a grave-yard at midnight. Why should I! I never did any one harm. This is an awful night to some folks in England—those who fear a death fetch and have sins on their souls. But to good people this is the merriest night of all the year, except Christmas, only. It is Halloween, marm."
What was the girl talking about? A "death fetch," and merrymaking and "Halloween."