ne," said Mrs. Townsend.

"And a few shadows," added David. "I am tired of such nonsense. I
thought you had more sense, Jane."

"One of the boys at school asked me if we lived in the house next to
the vacant lot on Wells Street and whistled when I said 'Yes,'"
remarked George.

"Let him whistle," said Mr. Townsend.

After a few hours the family, stimulated by Mr. Townsend's calm, common
sense, agreed that it was exceedingly foolish to be disturbed by a
mysterious odour of cabbage. They even laughed at themselves.

"I suppose we have got so nervous over those shadows hanging out
clothes that we notice every little thing," conceded Mrs. Townsend.

"You will find out some day that that is no more to be regarded than
the cabbage," said her husband.

"You can't account for that wet sheet hitting my face," said Mrs.
Townsend, doubtfully.

"You imagined it."

"I FELT it."

That afternoon things went on as usual in the household until nearly
four o'clock. Adrianna went downtown to do some shopping. Mrs.
Townsend sat sewing beside the bay window in her room, which was a
front one in the third story. George had not got home. Mr. Townsend
was writing a letter in the library. Cordelia was busy in the
basement; the twilight, which was coming earlier and earlier every
night, was beginning to gather, when suddenly there was a loud crash
which shook the house from its foundations. Even the dishes on the
sideboard rattled, and the glasses rang like bells. The pictures on the
walls of Mrs. Townsend's room swung out from the walls. But that was
not all: every looking-glass in the house cracked simultaneously--as
nearly as they could judge--from top to bottom, then shivered into
fragments over the floors. Mrs. Townsend was too frightened to scream.
She sat huddled in her chair, gasping for breath, her eyes, rolling
from side to side in incredulous terror, turned toward the street. She
saw a great black group of people crossing it just in front of the
vacant lot. There was something inexpressibly strange and gloomy about
this moving group; there was an effect of sweeping, wavings and
foldings of sable draperies and gleams of deadly white faces; then they
passed. She twisted her head to see, and they disappeared in the
vacant lot. Mr. Townsend came hurrying into the room; he was pale, and
looked at once angry and alarmed.

"Did you fall?" he asked inconsequently, as if his wife, who was small,
could have produced