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Speaker 1: Mother and child by James Boker. The tenants of Plimpton

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Hall had retired to rest somewhat earlier than was their

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wont for it was the last night of November. The

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old low rooms were in darkness, and all was silent

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as a grave. For though the residents, unfortunately for themselves,

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were not asleep, they held their breath and awaited in

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fear the first stroke of the hour from the old

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clock in the kitchen. Suddenly the sound of hurried footsteps

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broke the silence. But with sighs of relief, the terrified

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listeners found that the noise was made by a belated wayfarer,

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almost out of his wits with fright, but who was

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unable to avoid passing the hall, and who therefore ran

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by the haunted building as quickly as his legs would

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carry him. The sensation of escape, however, was of but

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short duration, for the hammer commenced to strike, and no

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sooner had the last stroke of eleven startled the echoes,

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than loud thuds as of a heavy object bumping upon

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the stairs were heard. The quaking occupants of the chambers

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hid their heads beneath the bed clothes, for they knew

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that an old fashioned oak chair was on its way

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down the noble staircase, and was sliding from step to step,

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as though dragged along by an invisible being who had

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only one hand at liberty. If any one had dared

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to follow that chair across the wide passage and into

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the wainscoted parlor, he would have been startled by the

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sight of a blazing in the grate. Whence ere the

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servants retired, even the very embers had been removed, and

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in the chair, the marvelous movement of which had so

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frightened all the inmates of the hall, he would have

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seen a beautiful woman seated with an infant at her breast.

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Year after year, on wild nights, when the snow was

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driven against the diamond panes and the cry of the

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spirits of the storm came up from the sea, the

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weird firelight shone from the haunted room, and through the

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house sounded a mysterious crooning as the unearthly visitor softly

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sang a lullaby to her infant. Lads grew into gray

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haired men in the old house, and from youth to manhood.

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On the last night of each November, they had heard

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the notes, but none of them, ever, had caught even

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when custom had somewhat deadened the terror which surrounded the

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events of the much dreaded anniversary. The words of the

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song the ghostly woman sang, The maids too, had always

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found the grate as it was left before the visit.

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Not a cinder or a speck of dust remained to

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tell of the strange fire, and no one had ever

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heard the chair ascend the stairs. Chair and fire, and

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child and mother, however, were seen by many a weary wayfarer,

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drawn to the house by the hospitable look of the window,

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through which a genial glow of the burning logs shone

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forth into the night, But who, by tapping at the

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pane and crying for shelter, could not attract the attention

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of the nurse, clad in a quaint old costume with lace,

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ruff and ruffles, and singing a mournful and melodious lullaby

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to the child resting upon her beautiful bosom. Tradition tells

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of one of these wanderers, a footsore and miserable seafaring

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man on the tramp, who, attracted by the welcome glare,

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crept to the panes, and, seeing the cozy looking fire,

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and the madonna faced mother tenderly nursing her infant wrapped

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at the glass, and begged for a morsel of food

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and permission to sleep in the hayloft, and, finding his

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pleadings unanswered, loudly cursed the woman who could sit and

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enjoy warmth and comfort and turn a deaf ear to

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the prayers of the homeless and hungry, upon which the

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seated figure turned the weird light of his war wild

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eyes upon him and almost changed him to stone. A

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laborer going to his daily toil in the early morn,

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finding the poor wretch gazing fixedly through the window against

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which his terror stricken face was closely pressed, his hair

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turned white by fear, and his fingers convulsively clutching the

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casement and of Mother and Child by James Boker