Lavender and Old Lace
Page 3"I have left money enough for the expenses until I come back, in a
little box on the top shelf of the closet in the front room, under a
pile of blankets and comfortables. The key that unlocks it is hung on
a nail driven into the back of the old bureau in the attic. I believe
Hepsey is honest and reliable, but I don't believe in tempting folks.
"When I get anywhere where I can, I will write and send you my address,
and then you can tell me how things are going at home. The catnip is
hanging from the rafters in the attic, in case you should want some tea,
and the sassafras is in the little drawer in the bureau that's got the
key hanging behind it.
"If there's anything else you should want, I reckon Hepsey will know
blessing of good health, I remain, "Your Affectionate Aunt, "JANE HATHAWAY.
"P. S. You have to keep a lamp burning every night in the east window of
the attic. Be careful that nothing catches afire."
The maid was waiting, in fear and trembling, for she did not know what
directions her eccentric mistress might have left.
"Everything is all right, Hepsey," said Miss Thorne, pleasantly, "and I
think you and I will get along nicely. Did Miss Hathaway tell you what
room I was to have?"
"No'm. She told me you was to make yourself at home. She said you could
sleep where you pleased."
o'clock." She still held the letter in her hand, greatly to the chagrin
of Hepsey, who was interested in everything and had counted upon a peep
at it. It was not Miss Hathaway's custom to guard her letters and she
was both surprised and disappointed.
As Ruth climbed the narrow stairway, the quiet, old-fashioned house
brought balm to her tired soul. It was exquisitely clean, redolent of
sweet herbs, and in its atmosphere was a subtle, Puritan restraint.
Have not our houses, mute as they are, their own way of conveying an
impression? One may go into a house which has been empty for a long
time, and yet feel, instinctively, what sort of people were last
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.