FullReads

“Loth was I, and my heart in my mouth, and fast I held by my aunt’s hand as I stept into that awsome room, and showed them both how she came and passed me by, and the spot where she stood, and where the door seemed to open.

“There was an ald empty press against the wall then, and shoving it aside, sure enough there was the tracing of a door in the wainscot, and a keyhole stopped with wood, and planed across as smooth as the rest, and the joining of the door all stopped wi’ putty the colour o’ yak, and, but for the hinges that showed a bit when the press was shoved aside, ye would not consayt there was a door there at all.

“‘Ha!’ says he, wi’ a queer smile, ‘this looks like it.’

“It took some minutes wi’ a small chisel and hammer to pick the bit o’ wood out o’ the keyhole. The key fitted, sure enough, and, wi’ a strang twist and a lang skreak, the boult went back and he pulled the door open.

“There was another door inside, stranger than the first, but the lacks was gone, and it opened easy. Inside was a narrow floor and walls and vault o’ brick; we could not see what was in it, for ’twas dark as pick.

“When my aunt had lighted the candle, the squire held it up and stept in.

“My aunt stood on tiptoe tryin’ to look over his shouther, and I did na see nout.

“‘Ha! ha!’ says the squire, steppin’ backward. ‘What’s that? Gi’ ma the poker–quick!’ says he to my aunt. And as she went to the hearth I peeps beside his arm, and I sid squat down in the far corner a monkey or a flayin’ on the chest, or else the maist shrivelled up, wizzened ald wife that ever was sen on yearth.

“‘By Jen!’ says my aunt, as puttin’ the poker in his hand, she keeked by his shouther, and sid the ill-favoured thing, ‘hae a care, sir, what ye’re doin’. Back wi’ ye, and shut to the door!’

“But in place o’ that he steps in saftly, wi’ the poker pointed like a swoord, and he gies it a poke, and down it a’ tumbles together, head and a’, in a heap o’ bayans and dust, little meyar an’ a hatful.

“‘Twas the bayans o’ a child; a’ the rest went to dust at a touch. They said nout for a while, but he turns round the skull, as it lay on the floor.

“Young as I was, I consayted I knew well enough what they was thinkin’ on.

“‘A dead cat!’ says he, pushin’ back and blowin’ out the can’le, and shuttin’ to the door. ‘We’ll come back, you and me, Mrs. Shutters, and look on the shelves by-and-bye. I’ve other matters first to speak to ye about; and this little girl’s goin’ hame, ye say. She has her wages, and I mun mak’ her a present,’ says he, pattin’ my shouther wi’ his hand.

“And he did gimma a goud pound and I went aff to Lexhoe about an hour after, and sa hame by the stage-coach, and fain was I to be at hame again; and I never sid Dame Crowl o’ Applewale, God be thanked, either in appearance or in dream, at-efter. But when I was grown to be a woman, my aunt spent a day and night wi’ me at Littleham, and she telt me there was no doubt it was the poor little boy that was missing sa lang sen, that was shut up to die thar in the dark by that wicked beldame, whar his skirls, or his prayers, or his thumpin’ cud na be heard, and his hat was left by the water’s edge, whoever did it, to mak’ belief he was drowned. The clothes, at the first touch, a’ ran into a snuff o’ dust in the cell whar the bayans was found. But there was a handful o’ jet buttons, and a knife with a green heft, together wi’ a couple o’ pennies the poor little fella had in his pocket, I suppose, when he was decoyed in thar, and sid his last o’ the light. And there was, amang the squire’s papers, a copy o’ the notice that was prented after he was lost, when the ald squire thought he might ‘a run away, or bin took by gipsies, and it said he had a green-hefted knife wi’ him, and that his buttons were o’ cut jet. Sa that is a’ I hev to say consarnin’ ald Dame Crowl, o’ Applewale House.”