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Page 3
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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 eyes glittered, red spots came on her
flaccid cheeks; she kept opening her mouth to speak, making little
abortive motions. Finally she could endure it no longer; she
nudged Rebecca boldly.
"A pleasant day," said she.
Rebecca looked at her and nodded coldly.
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