Helen and Arthur | Page 6

merrily round."
It is unnecessary to repeat the couplet which Miss Thusa sang between every descending horror, in a voice which sounded as if it came through a fine-toothed comb, in little trembling wires, though it gave indescribable effect to her gloomy tale.
"In a few moments," continued Miss Thusa, "she heard a shoving, pushing sound in the chimney like something groaning and laboring against the sides of the bricks, and presently a great, big, bloated body came down and set itself on legs that were no larger than a pipe stem. Then a little, scraggy neck, and, last of all, a monstrous skeleton head that grinned from ear to ear. 'You want good company, and you shall have it,' said the figure, and its voice did sound awfully--but the woman put up her wheel and asked the grim thing to take a chair and make himself at home.
"'I can't stay to-night,' said he, 'I've got a journey to take by the moonlight. Come along and let us be company for each other. There is a snug little place where we can rest when we're tired.'"
"Oh! Miss Thusa, she didn't go, did she?" interrupted Helen, whose eyes, which had been gradually enlarging, looked like two full midnight moons.
"Hush, child, if you ask another question, I'll stop short. She didn't do anything else but go, and they must have been a pretty sight walking in the moonlight together. The lonely woman and the worm-eaten traveler. On they went through the woods and over the plains, and up hill and down hill, over bridges made of fallen trees, and streams that had no bridges at all; when at last they came to a kind of uneven ground, and as the moon went behind a cloud, they went stumbling along as if treading over hillocks of corn.
"'Here it is,' cried the worm-eaten traveler, stopping on the brink of a deep, open grave. The moon looked forth from behind a cloud, and showed how awful deep it was. She wanted to turn back then, but the skeleton arms of the figure seized hold of her, and down they both went without ladder or rope, and no mortal ever set eyes on them more.
'Oh! if I'd good company--if I'd good company, Oh! how happy should I be!'"
It is impossible to describe the intensity with which Helen listened to this wild, dark legend, crouching closer and closer to the chimney corner, while the chillness of superstitious terror quenched the burning fire-rose on her cheek.
"Was the spinning woman you, Miss Thusa?" whispered she, afraid of the sound of her own voice; "and did you see it with your own eyes?"
"Hush, foolish child!" said Miss Thusa, resuming her natural tone; "ask me no questions, or I'll tell you no tales. 'Tis time for the yellow bird to be in its nest. Hark! I hear your mother calling me, and 'tis long past your bed-time. Come."
And Miss Thusa, sweeping her long right arm around the child, bore her shrinking and resisting towards the nursery room.
"Please, Miss Thusa," she pleaded, "don't leave me alone. Don't leave me in the dark. I'm not one bit sleepy--I never shall go to sleep--I'm afraid of the worm-eaten man."
"I thought the child had more sense," exclaimed the oracle. "I didn't think she was such a little goose as this," continued she, depositing her between the nice warm blankets. "Nobody ever troubles good little girls--the holy angels take care of them. There, good night--shut your eyes and go to sleep."
"Please don't take the light," entreated Helen, "only just leave it till I get to sleep; I'll blow it out as soon as I'm asleep."
"I guess you will," said Miss Thusa, "when you get a chance." Then catching up the lamp, she shot out of the room, repeating to herself, "Poor child! She does hate the dark so! That was a powerful story, to be sure. I shouldn't wonder if she dreamed about it. I never did see a child that listens to anything as she does. It's a pleasure to amuse her. Little monkey! She really acts as if 'twas all true. I know that's my master piece; that is the reason I'm so choice of it. It isn't every one that can tell a story as I can--that's certain. It's my gift--I mustn't be proud of it. God gives some persons one talent, and some another. We must all give an account of them at last. I hope 'twill never be said I've hid mine in a napkin."
Such was the tenor of Miss Thusa's thoughts as she wended her way down stairs. Had she imagined half the misery she was entailing on this singularly susceptible and imaginative child, instead of exulting in her gift, she would have mourned over its influence, in dust and ashes. The