Lavender and Old Lace | Page 5

feel, instinctively, what sort of people were last sheltered
there. The silent walls breathe a message to each visitor, and as the
footfalls echo in the bare cheerless rooms, one discovers where Sorrow
and Trouble had their abode, and where the light, careless laughter of
gay Bohemia lingered until dawn. At night, who has not heard ghostly
steps upon the stairs, the soft closing of unseen doors, the tapping on a
window, and, perchance, a sigh or the sound of tears? Timid souls may
shudder and be afraid, but wiser folk smile, with reminiscent tenderness,
when the old house dreams.
As she wandered through the tiny, spotless rooms on the second floor
of Miss Hathaway's house, Ruth had a sense of security and peace
which she had never known before. There were two front rooms, of
equal size, looking to the west, and she chose the one on the left,

because of its two south windows. There was but one other room, aside
from the small one at the end of the hall, which, as she supposed, was
Hepsey's.
One of the closets was empty, but on a shelf in the other was a great
pile of bedding. She dragged a chair inside, burrowed under the
blankets, and found a small wooden box, the contents clinking softly as
she drew it toward her.
Holding it under her arm, she ascended the narrow, spiral stairs which
led to the attic. At one end, under the eaves, stood an old mahogany
dresser. The casters were gone and she moved it with difficulty, but the
slanting sunbeams of late afternoon revealed the key, which hung, as
her aunt had written, on a nail driven into the back of it.
She knew, without trying, that it would fit the box, but idly turned the
lock. As she opened it, a bit of paper fluttered out, and, picking it up,
she read in her aunt's cramped, But distinct hand: "Hepsey gets a dollar
and a half every week. Don't you pay her no more."
As the house was set some distance back, the east window in the attic
was the only one which commanded a view of the sea. A small table,
with its legs sawed off, came exactly to the sill, and here stood a lamp,
which was a lamp simply, without adornment, and held about a pint of
oil.
She read the letter again and, having mastered its contents, tore it into
small pieces, with that urban caution which does not come amiss in the
rural districts. She understood that every night of her stay she was to
light this lamp with her own hands, but why? The varnish on the table,
which had once been glaring, was scratched with innumerable rings,
where the rough glass had left its mark. Ruth wondered if she were face
to face with a mystery.
The seaward side of the hill was a rocky cliff, and between the
vegetable garden at the back of the house and the edge of the precipice
were a few stumps, well-nigh covered with moss. From her vantage
point, she could see the woods which began at the base of the hill, on

the north side, and seemed to end at the sea. On the south, there were a
few trees near the cliff, but others near them had been cut down.
Still farther south and below the hill was a grassy plain, through which
a glistening river wound slowly to the ocean. Willows grew along its
margin, tipped with silvery green, and with masses of purple twilight
tangled in the bare branches below.
Ruth opened the window and drew a long breath. Her senses had been
dulled by the years in the city, but childhood, hidden though not
forgotten, came back as if by magic, with that first scent of sea and
Spring.
As yet, she had not fully realised how grateful she was for this little
time away from her desk and typewriter. The managing editor had
promised her the same position, whenever she chose to go back, and
there was a little hoard in the savings-bank, which she would not need
to touch, owing to the kindness of this eccentric aunt, whom she had
never seen.
The large room was a typical attic, with its spinning-wheel and
discarded furniture--colonial mahogany that would make many a city
matron envious, and for which its owner cared little or nothing. There
were chests of drawers, two or three battered trunks, a cedar chest, and
countless boxes, of various sizes. Bunches of sweet herbs hung from
the rafters, but there were no cobwebs, because of Miss Hathaway's
perfect housekeeping.
Ruth regretted the cobwebs and decided not to interfere, should the tiny
spinners take advantage of Aunt Jane's absence. She found an old chair
which was