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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wind in the Rose-bush and Other Stories of the Supernatural, by Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: The Wind in the Rose-bush and Other Stories of the Supernatural Author: Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman Posting Date: February 22, 2010 [EBook #1617] Release Date: January, 1999 Last Updated: June 6, 2005 Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WIND IN THE ROSE-BUSH *** Produced by Donald Lainson. HTML version by Al Haines. THE WIND IN THE ROSE-BUSH And Other Stories Of The Supernatural By Mary Wilkins Contents The Wind in the Rose-bush The Shadows on the Wall Luella Miller The Southwest Chamber The Vacant Lot The Lost Ghost THE WIND IN THE ROSE-BUSH Ford Village has no railroad station, being on the other side of the river from Porter's Falls, and accessible only by the ford which gives it its name, and a ferry line. The ferry-boat was waiting when Rebecca Flint got off the train with her bag and lunch basket. When she and her small trunk were safely embarked she sat stiff and straight and calm in the ferry-boat as it shot swiftly and smoothly across stream. There was a horse attached to a light country wagon on board, and he pawed the deck uneasily. His owner stood near, with a wary eye upon him, although he was chewing, with as dully reflective an expression as a cow. Beside Rebecca sat a woman of about her own age, who kept looking at her with furtive curiosity; her husband, short and stout and saturnine, stood near her. Rebecca paid no attention to either of them. She was tall and spare and pale, the type of a spinster, yet with rudimentary lines and expressions of matronhood. She all unconsciously held her shawl, rolled up in a canvas bag, on her left hip, as if it had been a child. She wore a settled frown of dissent at life, but it was the frown of a mother who regarded life as a froward child, rather than as an overwhelming fate. The other woman continued staring at her; she was mildly stupid, except for an over-developed curiosity which made her at times sharp beyond belief. Her
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