It seemed something dreadful had
happened in that house. And the land agent had never let on to
them. I don't think they would have bought it if he had, no matter
how cheap it was, for even if folks aren't really afraid of
anything, they don't want to live in houses where such dreadful
things have happened that you keep thinking about them. I know
after they told me I should never have stayed there another night,
if I hadn't thought so much of them, no matter how comfortable I
was made; and I never was nervous, either. But I stayed. Of
course, it didn't happen in my room. If it had I could not have
stayed."
"What was it?" asked Mrs. Emerson in an awed voice.
"It was an awful thing. That child had lived in the house with her
father and mother two years before. They had come--or the father
had--from a real good family. He had a good situation: he was a
drummer for a big leather house in the city, and they lived real
pretty, with plenty to do with. But the mother was a real wicked
woman. She was as handsome as a picture, and they said she came
from good sort of people enough in Boston, but she was bad clean
through, though she was real pretty spoken and most everybody liked
her.
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