As I left my room to join Margie, who was waiting for me, I saw two
things which caused me to feel that the horrors of the night were not
all unreal.
Just outside the back bed-room door was a damp place, as if that part of
the floor had been newly washed; and when led by curiosity, I peeped
through the keyhole of the haunted chamber, my eye distinctly saw an
open razor lying on a dusty table.
My seeing was limited to that one object, but it was quite enough. I
went up the hill thinking over the terrible secret hidden in my breast.
I longed to tell some one, but was ashamed; and, when asked why I was so
pale and absent-minded, I answered with a gloomy smile--
"It is the clams."
All day I hid my sufferings pretty well, but as night approached and I
thought of sleeping again in that haunted cottage, my heart began to
fail. As we sat telling stories in the dusk, a bright idea came into my
head.
I would relate my ghost story, and rouse the curiosity of my hearers, so
that some of them would offer to stay at the cottage in hopes of seeing
the spirit of the restless Tucker.
Cheered by this fancy, when my turn came I made a thrilling tale about
Bezee Tucker and my night's adventure.
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