Lavender and Old Lace | Page 6

unsteady on its rockers but not yet depraved enough to
betray one's confidence. Moving it to the window, she sat down and
looked out at the sea, where the slow boom of the surf came softly from
the shore, mingled with the liquid melody of returning breakers.
The first grey of twilight had come upon the world before she thought
of going downstairs. A match-safe hung upon the window casing,
newly filled, and, mindful of her trust, she lighted the lamp and closed

the window. Then a sudden scream from the floor below startled her.
"Miss Thorne! Miss Thorne!" cried a shrill voice. "Come here! Quick!"
White as a sheet, Ruth flew downstairs and met Hepsey in the hall.
"What on earth is the matter!" she gasped.
"Joe's come with your trunk," responded that volcanic young woman,
amiably; "where'd you want it put?"
"In the south front room," she answered, still frightened, but glad
nothing more serious had happened. "You mustn't scream like that."
"Supper's ready," resumed Hepsey, nonchalantly, and Ruth followed
her down to the little dining-room.
As she ate, she plied the maid with questions. "Does Miss Hathaway
light that lamp in the attic every night?"
"Yes'm. She cleans it and fills it herself, and she puts it out every
morning. She don't never let me touch it."
"Why does she keep it there?"
"D' know. She d' know, neither."
"Why, Hepsey, what do you mean? Why does she do it if she doesn't
know why she does it?"
"D'know.'Cause she wants to, I reckon."
"She's been gone a week, hasn't she?"
"No'm. Only six days. It'll be a week to-morrer."
Hepsey's remarks were short and jerky, as a rule, and had a certain
explosive force.
"Hasn't the lamp been lighted since she went away?"

"Yes'm. I was to do it till you come, and after you got here I was to ask
you every night if you'd forgot it."
Ruth smiled because Aunt Jane's old-fashioned exactness lingered in
her wake. "Now see here, Hepsey," she began kindly, "I don't know and
you don't know, but I'd like to have you tell me what you think about
it."
"I d' know, as you say, mum, but I think--" here she lowered her
voice--" I think it has something to do with Miss Ainslie."
"Who is Miss Ainslie?"
"She's a peculiar woman, Miss Ainslie is," the girl explained,
smoothing her apron, "and she lives down the road a piece, in the
valley as, you may say. She don't never go nowheres, Miss Ainslie
don't, but folks goes to see her. She's got a funny house--I've been
inside of it sometimes when I've been down on errands for Miss
Hathaway. She ain't got no figgered wall paper, nor no lace curtains,
and she ain't got no rag carpets neither. Her floors is all kinder funny,
and she's got heathen things spread down onto'em. Her house is full of
heathen things, and sometimes she wears'em."
"Wears what, Hepsey? The'heathen things' in the house?"
"No'm. Other heathen things she's got put away somewheres. She's got
money, I guess, but she's got furniture in her parlour that's just like
what Miss Hathaway's got set away in the attic. We wouldn't use them
kind of things, nohow," she added complacently.
"Does she live all alone?"
"Yes'm. Joe, he does her errands and other folks stops in sometimes,
but Miss Ainslie ain't left her front yard for I d' know how long. Some
says she's cracked, but she's the best housekeeper round here, and if she
hears of anybody that's sick or in trouble, she allers sends'em things.
She ain't never been up here, but Miss Hathaway, she goes down there
sometimes, and she'n Miss Ainslie swaps cookin' quite regler. I have to

go down there with a plate of somethin' Miss Hathaway's made, and
Miss Ainslie allers says: 'Wait just a moment, please, Hepsey, I would
like to send Miss Hathaway a jar of my preserves.'"
She relapsed unconsciously into imitation of Miss Ainslie's speech. In
the few words, softened, and betraying a quaint stateliness, Ruth caught
a glimpse of an old-fashioned gentlewoman, reserved and yet gracious.
She folded her napkin, saying: "You make the best biscuits I ever tasted,
Hepsey." The girl smiled, but made no reply.
"What makes you think Miss Ainslie has anything to do with the
light?" she inquired after a little.
"'Cause there wasn't no light in that winder when I first
come--leastways, not as I know of--and after I'd been here a week or so,
Miss Hathaway, she come back from there one day looking kinder
strange. She didn't say much; but the next mornin' she goes down to
town and buys that lamp, and she saws off them table legs herself.
Every night since, that light's been a-goin', and she