Luella Miller

Close to thevillage street stood the one-story house in which Luella
Miller, who had an evil name in the village, had dwelt. She hadbeen
dead for years, yet there were those in the village who, in spiteof the
clearer light which comes on a vantage-point from a long-pastdanger,
half believed in the tale which they had heard from theirchildhood. In
their hearts, although they scarcely would have owned it, was asurvival
of the wild horror and frenzied fear of their ancestors who haddwelt in
the same age with Luella Miller. Young people even would starewith a
shudder at the old house as they passed, and children neverplayed
around it as was their wont around an untenanted building. Not awindow
in the old Miller house was broken: the panes reflected themorning
sunlight in patches of emerald and blue, and the latch of thesagging
front door was never lifted, although no bolt secured it. SinceLuella
Miller had been carried out of it, the house had had no tenantexcept
one friendless old soul who had no choice between that and thefar-off
shelter of the open sky. This old woman, who had survived herkindred
and friends, lived in the house one week, then one morning nosmoke came
out of the chimney, and a body of neighbours, a score strong,entered
and found her dead in her bed. There were dark whispers as to thecause
of her death, and there were those who testified to an expressionof
fear so exalted that it showed forth the state of the departingsoul
upon the dead face. The old woman had been hale and hearty whenshe
entered the house, and in seven days she was dead; it seemed thatshe
had fallen a victim to some uncanny power. The minister talked inthe
pulpit with covert severity against the sin of superstition;still the
belief prevailed. Not a soul in the village but would have chosenthe
almshouse rather than that dwelling. No vagrant, if he heard thetale,
would seek shelter beneath that old roof, unhallowed by nearlyhalf a
century of superstitious fear.

There was only one person in the village who had actually knownLuella
Miller. That person was a woman well over eighty, but a marvel of
vitality and unextinct youth. Straight as an arrow, with thespring of
one recently let loose from the bow of life, she moved about the
streets, and she always went to church, rain or shine. She hadnever
married, and had lived alone for years in a house across the roadfrom
Luella Miller's.

This woman had none of the garrulousness of age, but never in allher
life had she ever held her tongue for any will save her own, andshe
never spared the truth when she essayed to present it. She it waswho
bore testimony to the life, evil, though possibly wittingly or
designedly so, of Luella Miller, and to her personal appearance.When
this old woman spoke--and she had the gift of description,although her
thoughts were clothed in the rude vernacular of her nativevillage--one
could seem to see Luella Miller as she had really looked.According to
this woman, Lydia Anderson by name, Luella Miller had been abeauty of a
type rather unusual in New England. She had been a slight, pliantsort
of creature, as ready with a strong yielding to fate and asunbreakable
as a willow. She had glimmering lengths of straight, fair hair,which
she wore softly looped round a long, lovely face. She had blueeyes full
of soft pleading, little slender, clinging hands, and a wonderfulgrace
of motion and attitude.

"Luella Miller used to sit in a way nobody else could ifthey sat up and
studied a week of Sundays," said Lydia Anderson, "andit was a sight to
see her walk. If one of them willows over there on the edge ofthe
brook could start up and get its roots free of the ground, andmove off,
it would go just the way Luella Miller used to. She had a greenshot
silk she used to wear, too, and a hat with green ribbonstreamers, and a
lace veil blowing across her face and out sideways, and a greenribbon
flyin' from her waist. That was what she came out bride in whenshe
married Erastus Miller. Her name before she was married was Hill.
There was always a sight of "l's" in her name, marriedor single.
Erastus Miller was good lookin', too, better lookin' than Luella.
Sometimes I used to think that Luella wa'n't so handsome afterall.
Erastus just about worshiped her. I used to know him pretty well.He
lived next door to me, and we went to school together. Folks usedto
say he was waitin' on me, but he wa'n't. I never thought he wasexcept
once or twice when he said things that some girls might havesuspected
meant somethin'. That was before Luella came here to teach thedistrict
school. It was funny how she came to get it, for folks said shehadn't
any education, and that one of the big girls, Lottie Henderson,used to
do all the teachin' for her, while she sat back and didembroidery work
on a cambric pocket-handkerchief. Lottie Henderson was a realsmart
girl, a splendid scholar, and she just set her eyes by Luella, asall
the girls did. Lottie would have made a real smart woman, but shedied
when Luella had been here about a year--just faded away and died:nobody
knew what aided her. She dragged herself to that schoolhouse andhelped
Luella teach till the very last minute. The committee all knewhow
Luella didn't do much of the work herself, but they winked at it.It
wa'n't long after Lottie died that Erastus married her. I always
thought he hurried it up because she wa'n't fit to teach. One ofthe
big boys used to help her after Lottie died, but he hadn't much
government, and the school didn't do very well, and Luella mighthave
had to give it up, for the committee couldn't have shut theireyes to
things much longer. The boy that helped her was a real honest,innocent
sort of fellow, and he was a good scholar, too. Folks said he
overstudied, and that was the reason he was took crazy the yearafter
Luella married, but I don't know. And I don't know what madeErastus
Miller go into consumption of the blood the year after he wasmarried:
consumption wa'n't in his family. He just grew weaker and weaker,and
went almost bent double when he tried to wait on Luella, and hespoke
feeble, like an old man. He worked terrible hard till the lasttrying
to save up a little to leave Luella. I've seen him out in theworst
storms on a wood-sled--he used to cut and sell wood--and he washunched
up on top lookin' more dead than alive. Once I couldn't stand it:I
went over and helped him pitch some wood on the cart--I wasalways
strong in my arms. I wouldn't stop for all he told me to, and Iguess
he was glad enough for the help. That was only a week before hedied.
He fell on the kitchen floor while he was gettin' breakfast. Healways
got the breakfast and let Luella lay abed. He did all thesweepin' and
the washin' and the ironin' and most of the cookin'. He couldn'tbear
to have Luella lift her finger, and she let him do for her. Shelived
like a queen for all the work she did. She didn't even do hersewin'.
She said it made her shoulder ache to sew, and poor Erastus'ssister
Lily used to do all her sewin'. She wa'n't able to, either; shewas
never strong in her back, but she did it beautifully. She had to,to
suit Luella, she was so dreadful particular. I never saw anythin'like
the fagottin' and hemstitchin' that Lily Miller did for Luella.She
made all Luella's weddin' outfit, and that green silk dress,after Maria
Babbit cut it. Maria she cut it for nothin', and she did a lotmore
cuttin' and fittin' for nothin' for Luella, too. Lily Miller wentto
live with Luella after Erastus died. She gave up her home, thoughshe
was real attached to it and wa'n't a mite afraid to stay alone.She
rented it and she went to live with Luella right away after the
funeral."

Then this old woman, Lydia Anderson, who remembered LuellaMiller, would
go on to relate the story of Lily Miller. It seemed that on theremoval
of Lily Miller to the house of her dead brother, to live with hiswidow,
the village people first began to talk. This Lily Miller had been
hardly past her first youth, and a most robust and bloomingwoman,
rosy-cheeked, with curls of strong, black hair overshadowinground,
candid temples and bright dark eyes. It was not six months aftershe
had taken up her residence with her sister-in-law that her rosycolour
faded and her pretty curves became wan hollows. White shadowsbegan to
show in the black rings of her hair, and the light died out ofher eyes,
her features sharpened, and there were pathetic lines at hermouth,
which yet wore always an expression of utter sweetness and even
happiness. She was devoted to her sister; there was no doubt thatshe
loved her with her whole heart, and was perfectly content in her
service. It was her sole anxiety lest she should die and leaveher
alone.

"The way Lily Miller used to talk about Luella was enough tomake you
mad and enough to make you cry," said Lydia Anderson. "I'vebeen in
there sometimes toward the last when she was too feeble to cookand
carried her some blanc-mange or custard--somethin' I thought shemight
relish, and she'd thank me, and when I asked her how she was, sayshe
felt better than she did yesterday, and asked me if I didn'tthink she
looked better, dreadful pitiful, and say poor Luella had an awfultime
takin' care of her and doin' the work--she wa'n't strong enoughto do
anythin'--when all the time Luella wa'n't liftin' her finger andpoor
Lily didn't get any care except what the neighbours gave her, andLuella
eat up everythin' that was carried in for Lily. I had it realstraight
that she did. Luella used to just sit and cry and do nothin'. Shedid
act real fond of Lily, and she pined away considerable, too.There was
those that thought she'd go into a decline herself. But afterLily
died, her Aunt Abby Mixter came, and then Luella picked up andgrew as
fat and rosy as ever. But poor Aunt Abby begun to droop just theway
Lily had, and I guess somebody wrote to her married daughter, Mrs.Sam
Abbot, who lived in Barre, for she wrote her mother that she mustleave
right away and come and make her a visit, but Aunt Abby wouldn'tgo. I
can see her now. She was a real good-lookin' woman, tall andlarge,
with a big, square face and a high forehead that looked of itselfkind
of benevolent and good. She just tended out on Luella as if shehad
been a baby, and when her married daughter sent for her shewouldn't
stir one inch. She'd always thought a lot of her daughter, too,but she
said Luella needed her and her married daughter didn't. Herdaughter
kept writin' and writin', but it didn't do any good. Finally shecame,
and when she saw how bad her mother looked, she broke down andcried and
all but went on her knees to have her come away. She spoke hermind out
to Luella, too. She told her that she'd killed her husband and
everybody that had anythin' to do with her, and she'd thank herto leave
her mother alone. Luella went into hysterics, and Aunt Abby wasso
frightened that she called me after her daughter went. Mrs. SamAbbot
she went away fairly cryin' out loud in the buggy, the neighboursheard
her, and well she might, for she never saw her mother again alive.I
went in that night when Aunt Abby called for me, standin' in thedoor
with her little green-checked shawl over her head. I can see hernow.
'Do come over here, Miss Anderson,' she sung out, kind of gaspingfor
breath. I didn't stop for anythin'. I put over as fast as Icould, and
when I got there, there was Luella laughin' and cryin' alltogether, and
Aunt Abby trying to hush her, and all the time she herself waswhite as
a sheet and shakin' so she could hardly stand. 'For the landsakes,
Mrs. Mixter,' says I, 'you look worse than she does. You ain'tfit to
be up out of your bed.'

"'Oh, there ain't anythin' the matter with me,' says she.Then she went
on talkin' to Luella. 'There, there, don't, don't, poor littlelamb,'
says she. 'Aunt Abby is here. She ain't goin' away and leave you.
Don't, poor little lamb.'

"'Do leave her with me, Mrs. Mixter, and you get back tobed,' says I,
for Aunt Abby had been layin' down considerable lately, thoughsomehow
she contrived to do the work.

"'I'm well enough,' says she. 'Don't you think she hadbetter have the
doctor, Miss Anderson?'

"'The doctor,' says I, 'I think YOU had better have thedoctor. I think
you need him much worse than some folks I could mention.' And Ilooked
right straight at Luella Miller laughin' and cryin' and goin' onas if
she was the centre of all creation. All the time she was actin'
so--seemed as if she was too sick to sense anythin'--she waskeepin' a
sharp lookout as to how we took it out of the corner of one eye.I see
her. You could never cheat me about Luella Miller. Finally I gotreal
mad and I run home and I got a bottle of valerian I had, and Ipoured
some boilin' hot water on a handful of catnip, and I mixed upthat
catnip tea with most half a wineglass of valerian, and I wentwith it
over to Luella's. I marched right up to Luella, a-holdin' out ofthat
cup, all smokin'. 'Now,' says I, 'Luella Miller, 'YOU SWALLERTHIS!'

"'What is--what is it, oh, what is it?' she sort ofscreeches out. Then
she goes off a-laughin' enough to kill.

"'Poor lamb, poor little lamb,' says Aunt Abby, standin'over her, all
kind of tottery, and tryin' to bathe her head with camphor.

"'YOU SWALLER THIS RIGHT DOWN,' says I. And I didn't wasteany
ceremony. I just took hold of Luella Miller's chin and I tippedher
head back, and I caught her mouth open with laughin', and Iclapped that
cup to her lips, and I fairly hollered at her: 'Swaller, swaller,
swaller!' and she gulped it right down. She had to, and I guessit did
her good. Anyhow, she stopped cryin' and laughin' and let me puther to
bed, and she went to sleep like a baby inside of half an hour.That was
more than poor Aunt Abby did. She lay awake all that night and Istayed
with her, though she tried not to have me; said she wa'n't sickenough
for watchers. But I stayed, and I made some good cornmeal grueland I
fed her a teaspoon every little while all night long. It seemedto me
as if she was jest dyin' from bein' all wore out. In the mornin'as
soon as it was light I run over to the Bisbees and sent JohnnyBisbee
for the doctor. I told him to tell the doctor to hurry, and hecome
pretty quick. Poor Aunt Abby didn't seem to know much of anythin'when
he got there. You couldn't hardly tell she breathed, she was soused
up. When the doctor had gone, Luella came into the room lookin'like a
baby in her ruffled nightgown. I can see her now. Her eyes wereas
blue and her face all pink and white like a blossom, and shelooked at
Aunt Abby in the bed sort of innocent and surprised. 'Why,' saysshe,
'Aunt Abby ain't got up yet?'

"'No, she ain't,' says I, pretty short.

"'I thought I didn't smell the coffee,' says Luella.

"'Coffee,' says I. 'I guess if you have coffee this mornin'you'll make
it yourself.'

"'I never made the coffee in all my life,' says she,dreadful
astonished. 'Erastus always made the coffee as long as he lived,and
then Lily she made it, and then Aunt Abby made it. I don'tbelieve I
CAN make the coffee, Miss Anderson.'

"'You can make it or go without, jest as you please,' says I.

"'Ain't Aunt Abby goin' to get up?' says she.

"'I guess she won't get up,' says I, 'sick as she is.' I wasgettin'
madder and madder. There was somethin' about that little pink-and-white
thing standin' there and talkin' about coffee, when she hadkilled so
many better folks than she was, and had jest killed another, thatmade
me feel 'most as if I wished somebody would up and kill herbefore she
had a chance to do any more harm.

"'Is Aunt Abby sick?' says Luella, as if she was sort ofaggrieved and
injured.

"'Yes,' says I, 'she's sick, and she's goin' to die, andthen you'll be
left alone, and you'll have to do for yourself and wait onyourself, or
do without things.' I don't know but I was sort of hard, but itwas the
truth, and if I was any harder than Luella Miller had been I'llgive up.
I ain't never been sorry that I said it. Well, Luella, she up andhad
hysterics again at that, and I jest let her have 'em. All I didwas to
bundle her into the room on the other side of the entry whereAunt Abby
couldn't hear her, if she wa'n't past it--I don't know but shewas--and
set her down hard in a chair and told her not to come back intothe
other room, and she minded. She had her hysterics in there tillshe got
tired. When she found out that nobody was comin' to coddle herand do
for her she stopped. At least I suppose she did. I had all Icould do
with poor Aunt Abby tryin' to keep the breath of life in her. The
doctor had told me that she was dreadful low, and give me somevery
strong medicine to give to her in drops real often, and told mereal
particular about the nourishment. Well, I did as he told me real
faithful till she wa'n't able to swaller any longer. Then I hadher
daughter sent for. I had begun to realize that she wouldn't lastany
time at all. I hadn't realized it before, though I spoke toLuella the
way I did. The doctor he came, and Mrs. Sam Abbot, but when shegot
there it was too late; her mother was dead. Aunt Abby's daughterjust
give one look at her mother layin' there, then she turned sort ofsharp
and sudden and looked at me.

"'Where is she?' says she, and I knew she meant Luella.

"'She's out in the kitchen,' says I. 'She's too nervous tosee folks
die. She's afraid it will make her sick.'

"The Doctor he speaks up then. He was a young man. OldDoctor Park had
died the year before, and this was a young fellow just out ofcollege.
'Mrs. Miller is not strong,' says he, kind of severe, 'and she isquite
right in not agitating herself.'

"'You are another, young man; she's got her pretty claw onyou,' thinks
I, but I didn't say anythin' to him. I just said over to Mrs. SamAbbot
that Luella was in the kitchen, and Mrs. Sam Abbot she went outthere,
and I went, too, and I never heard anythin' like the way shetalked to
Luella Miller. I felt pretty hard to Luella myself, but this wasmore
than I ever would have dared to say. Luella she was too scared togo
into hysterics. She jest flopped. She seemed to jest shrink awayto
nothin' in that kitchen chair, with Mrs. Sam Abbot standin' overher and
talkin' and tellin' her the truth. I guess the truth was most toomuch
for her and no mistake, because Luella presently actually didfaint
away, and there wa'n't any sham about it, the way I alwayssuspected
there was about them hysterics. She fainted dead away and we hadto lay
her flat on the floor, and the Doctor he came runnin' out and hesaid
somethin' about a weak heart dreadful fierce to Mrs. Sam Abbot,but she
wa'n't a mite scared. She faced him jest as white as even Luellawas
layin' there lookin' like death and the Doctor feelin' of herpulse.

"'Weak heart,' says she, 'weak heart; weak fiddlesticks!There ain't
nothin' weak about that woman. She's got strength enough to hangonto
other folks till she kills 'em. Weak? It was my poor mother thatwas
weak: this woman killed her as sure as if she had taken a knifeto her.'

"But the Doctor he didn't pay much attention. He was bendin'over
Luella layin' there with her yellow hair all streamin' and herpretty
pink-and-white face all pale, and her blue eyes like stars goneout, and
he was holdin' onto her hand and smoothin' her forehead, andtellin' me
to get the brandy in Aunt Abby's room, and I was sure as I wantedto be
that Luella had got somebody else to hang onto, now Aunt Abby wasgone,
and I thought of poor Erastus Miller, and I sort of pitied thepoor
young Doctor, led away by a pretty face, and I made up my mindI'd see
what I could do.

"I waited till Aunt Abby had been dead and buried about amonth, and the
Doctor was goin' to see Luella steady and folks were beginnin' totalk;
then one evenin', when I knew the Doctor had been called out oftown and
wouldn't be round, I went over to Luella's. I found her alldressed up
in a blue muslin with white polka dots on it, and her hair curledjest
as pretty, and there wa'n't a young girl in the place couldcompare with
her. There was somethin' about Luella Miller seemed to draw theheart
right out of you, but she didn't draw it out of ME. She wassettin'
rocking in the chair by her sittin'-room window, and Maria Brownhad
gone home. Maria Brown had been in to help her, or rather to dothe
work, for Luella wa'n't helped when she didn't do anythin'. MariaBrown
was real capable and she didn't have any ties; she wa'n'tmarried, and
lived alone, so she'd offered. I couldn't see why she should dothe
work any more than Luella; she wa'n't any too strong; but sheseemed to
think she could and Luella seemed to think so, too, so she wentover and
did all the work--washed, and ironed, and baked, while Luella satand
rocked. Maria didn't live long afterward. She began to fade awayjust
the same fashion the others had. Well, she was warned, but sheacted
real mad when folks said anythin': said Luella was a poor, abusedwoman,
too delicate to help herself, and they'd ought to be ashamed, andif she
died helpin' them that couldn't help themselves she would--andshe did.

"'I s'pose Maria has gone home,' says I to Luella, when Ihad gone in
and sat down opposite her.

"'Yes, Maria went half an hour ago, after she had got supperand washed
the dishes,' says Luella, in her pretty way.

"'I suppose she has got a lot of work to do in her own houseto- night,'
says I, kind of bitter, but that was all thrown away on LuellaMiller.
It seemed to her right that other folks that wa'n't any betterable than
she was herself should wait on her, and she couldn't get itthrough her
head that anybody should think it WA'N'T right.

"'Yes,' says Luella, real sweet and pretty, 'yes, she saidshe had to do
her washin' to-night. She has let it go for a fortnight along ofcomin'
over here.'

"'Why don't she stay home and do her washin' instead ofcomin' over here
and doin' YOUR work, when you are just as well able, and enoughsight
more so, than she is to do it?' says I.

"Then Luella she looked at me like a baby who has a rattleshook at it.
She sort of laughed as innocent as you please. 'Oh, I can't dothe work
myself, Miss Anderson,' says she. 'I never did. Maria HAS to doit.'

"Then I spoke out: 'Has to do it I' says I. 'Has to do it!'She don't
have to do it, either. Maria Brown has her own home and enough tolive
on. She ain't beholden to you to come over here and slave for youand
kill herself.'

"Luella she jest set and stared at me for all the world likea doll-baby
that was so abused that it was comin' to life.

"'Yes,' says I, 'she's killin' herself. She's goin' to diejust the way
Erastus did, and Lily, and your Aunt Abby. You're killin' herjest as
you did them. I don't know what there is about you, but you seemto
bring a curse,' says I. 'You kill everybody that is fool enoughto care
anythin' about you and do for you.'

"She stared at me and she was pretty pale.

"'And Maria ain't the only one you're goin' to kill,' says I.'You're
goin' to kill Doctor Malcom before you're done with him.'

"Then a red colour came flamin' all over her face. 'I ain'tgoin' to
kill him, either,' says she, and she begun to cry.

"'Yes, you BE!' says I. Then I spoke as I had never spokebefore. You
see, I felt it on account of Erastus. I told her that she hadn'tany
business to think of another man after she'd been married to onethat
had died for her: that she was a dreadful woman; and she was,that's
true enough, but sometimes I have wondered lately if she knew it--ifshe
wa'n't like a baby with scissors in its hand cuttin' everybodywithout
knowin' what it was doin'.

"Luella she kept gettin' paler and paler, and she never tookher eyes
off my face. There was somethin' awful about the way she lookedat me
and never spoke one word. After awhile I quit talkin' and I wenthome.
I watched that night, but her lamp went out before nine o'clock,and
when Doctor Malcom came drivin' past and sort of slowed up he seethere
wa'n't any light and he drove along. I saw her sort of shy out of
meetin' the next Sunday, too, so he shouldn't go home with her,and I
begun to think mebbe she did have some conscience after all. Itwas
only a week after that that Maria Brown died--sort of sudden atthe
last, though everybody had seen it was comin'. Well, then therewas a
good deal of feelin' and pretty dark whispers. Folks said thedays of
witchcraft had come again, and they were pretty shy of Luella.She
acted sort of offish to the Doctor and he didn't go there, andthere
wa'n't anybody to do anythin' for her. I don't know how she DIDget
along. I wouldn't go in there and offer to help her--not becauseI was
afraid of dyin' like the rest, but I thought she was just as wellable
to do her own work as I was to do it for her, and I thought itwas about
time that she did it and stopped killin' other folks. But itwa'n't
very long before folks began to say that Luella herself was goin'into a
decline jest the way her husband, and Lily, and Aunt Abby and theothers
had, and I saw myself that she looked pretty bad. I used to seeher
goin' past from the store with a bundle as if she could hardlycrawl,
but I remembered how Erastus used to wait and 'tend when hecouldn't
hardly put one foot before the other, and I didn't go out to helpher.

"But at last one afternoon I saw the Doctor come drivin' uplike mad
with his medicine chest, and Mrs. Babbit came in after supper andsaid
that Luella was real sick.

"'I'd offer to go in and nurse her,' says she, 'but I've gotmy children
to consider, and mebbe it ain't true what they say, but it'squeer how
many folks that have done for her have died.'

"I didn't say anythin', but I considered how she had beenErastus's wife
and how he had set his eyes by her, and I made up my mind to goin the
next mornin', unless she was better, and see what I could do; butthe
next mornin' I see her at the window, and pretty soon she camesteppin'
out as spry as you please, and a little while afterward Mrs.Babbit came
in and told me that the Doctor had got a girl from out of town, aSarah
Jones, to come there, and she said she was pretty sure that theDoctor
was goin' to marry Luella.

"I saw him kiss her in the door that night myself, and Iknew it was
true. The woman came that afternoon, and the way she flew aroundwas a
caution. I don't believe Luella had swept since Maria died. Sheswept
and dusted, and washed and ironed; wet clothes and dusters andcarpets
were flyin' over there all day, and every time Luella set herfoot out
when the Doctor wa'n't there there was that Sarah Jones helpin'of her
up and down the steps, as if she hadn't learned to walk.

"Well, everybody knew that Luella and the Doctor were goin'to be
married, but it wa'n't long before they began to talk about hislookin'
so poorly, jest as they had about the others; and they talkedabout
Sarah Jones, too.

"Well, the Doctor did die, and he wanted to be marriedfirst, so as to
leave what little he had to Luella, but he died before theminister
could get there, and Sarah Jones died a week afterward.

"Well, that wound up everything for Luella Miller. Notanother soul in
the whole town would lift a finger for her. There got to be asort of
panic. Then she began to droop in good earnest. She used to haveto go
to the store herself, for Mrs. Babbit was afraid to let Tommy gofor
her, and I've seen her goin' past and stoppin' every two or threesteps
to rest. Well, I stood it as long as I could, but one day I seeher
comin' with her arms full and stoppin' to lean against the Babbitfence,
and I run out and took her bundles and carried them to her house.Then
I went home and never spoke one word to her though she calledafter me
dreadful kind of pitiful. Well, that night I was taken sick witha
chill, and I was sick as I wanted to be for two weeks. Mrs.Babbit had
seen me run out to help Luella and she came in and told me I wasgoin'
to die on account of it. I didn't know whether I was or not, butI
considered I had done right by Erastus's wife.

"That last two weeks Luella she had a dreadful hard time, Iguess. She
was pretty sick, and as near as I could make out nobody dared gonear
her. I don't know as she was really needin' anythin' very much,for
there was enough to eat in her house and it was warm weather, andshe
made out to cook a little flour gruel every day, I know, but Iguess she
had a hard time, she that had been so petted and done for all herlife.

"When I got so I could go out, I went over there one morning.Mrs.
Babbit had just come in to say she hadn't seen any smoke and shedidn't
know but it was somebody's duty to go in, but she couldn't helpthinkin'
of her children, and I got right up, though I hadn't been out ofthe
house for two weeks, and I went in there, and Luella she waslayin' on
the bed, and she was dyin'.

"She lasted all that day and into the night. But I sat thereafter the
new doctor had gone away. Nobody else dared to go there. It wasabout
midnight that I left her for a minute to run home and get somemedicine
I had been takin', for I begun to feel rather bad.

"It was a full moon that night, and just as I started out ofmy door to
cross the street back to Luella's, I stopped short, for I saw
something."

Lydia Anderson at this juncture always said with a certaindefiance that
she did not expect to be believed, and then proceeded in a hushedvoice:

"I saw what I saw, and I know I saw it, and I will swear onmy death bed
that I saw it. I saw Luella Miller and Erastus Miller, and Lily,and
Aunt Abby, and Maria, and the Doctor, and Sarah, all goin' out ofher
door, and all but Luella shone white in the moonlight, and theywere all
helpin' her along till she seemed to fairly fly in the midst ofthem.
Then it all disappeared. I stood a minute with my heart poundin',then
I went over there. I thought of goin' for Mrs. Babbit, but Ithought
she'd be afraid. So I went alone, though I knew what had happened.
Luella was layin' real peaceful, dead on her bed."

This was the story that the old woman, Lydia Anderson, told, butthe
sequel was told by the people who survived her, and this is thetale
which has become folklore in the village.

Lydia Anderson died when she was eighty-seven. She had continued
wonderfully hale and hearty for one of her years until about twoweeks
before her death.

One bright moonlight evening she was sitting beside a window inher
parlour when she made a sudden exclamation, and was out of thehouse and
across the street before the neighbour who was taking care of hercould
stop her. She followed as fast as possible and found LydiaAnderson
stretched on the ground before the door of Luella Miller'sdeserted
house, and she was quite dead.

The next night there was a red gleam of fire athwart themoonlight and
the old house of Luella Miller was burned to the ground. Nothingis now
left of it except a few old cellar stones and a lilac bush, andin
summer a helpless trail of morning glories among the weeds, whichmight
be considered emblematic of Luella herself.