But the minute she moved toward the child
there wasn't any child there; there was only that little voice
seeming to come from nothing, saying 'I can't find my mother,' and
presently that died away.
"Well, that same thing kept happening, or something very much the
same. Once in awhile Mrs. Bird would be washing dishes, and all at
once the child would be standing beside her with the dish-towel,
wiping them. Of course, that was terrible. Mrs. Bird would wash
the dishes all over. Sometimes she didn't tell Mrs. Dennison, it
made her so nervous. Sometimes when they were making cake they
would find the raisins all picked over, and sometimes little sticks
of kindling-wood would be found laying beside the kitchen stove.
They never knew when they would come across that child, and always
she kept saying over and over that she couldn't find her mother.
They never tried talking to her, except once in awhile Mrs. Bird
would get desperate and ask her something, but the child never
seemed to hear it; she always kept right on saying that she
couldn't find her mother.
"After they had told me all they had to tell about their experience
with the child, they told me about the house and the people that
had lived there before they did.
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