at the "face" which had terrified her was safely
out of sight, she began to recall it with a sort of fascination. If it
were a ghost, it must have been that of somebody she had once known, for
it was oddly familiar. The heavy features had a ghastly resemblance
to--Who could it be? Uncle Moses? Mr. Turner? The stage-driver? No, none
of these; nor of any old pensioner at the "Farm." Then, suddenly, she
thought of Squire Pettijohn, terrible man, who had used to visit that
"Farm," inspect its workings, suggest further extreme economies, where,
it seemed to the beneficiaries, that economy had already reached its
limit, ask personal questions, such as even a pauper may resent, and
make himself generally obnoxious. Alfaretta had frankly hated him, and
had never been more thankful than when she was assigned to Madam
Sturtevant rather than to Mrs. Pettijohn--both ladies having entered
application for a "bound-out" servant at the very same time. Already
ashamed of misfortunes which were not at all her own fault, she had
resented his pinching of her ears, his facetious references to her
worthless parents, his chuckings under the chin, and the other personal
familiarities by which some elderly people fancy they are pleasing
younger ones.

"Madam! May I speak?"

"Certainly, Alfaretta. I haven't been able to keep my thoughts on my
paper. I shall be glad to hear anything you have to say."

"Well, then! I'd hate to think it of any--any _good_ ghost, but there
was somethin' 'bout that _face_ 'at made me remember somebody I'd seen,
an' the somebody was--Squire Pettijohn!"

"Child, how absurd!"

"Yes'm, I s'pose it is. But there was them same big eyebrows standin'
out fur from this white _face_ as his'n does from his red one. There was
the same sort of bitter look in the eyes, only these ones was afire.
Ain't that queer?"

"Exceedingly queer. So queer that you must banish the notion at once
from your mind. I am convinced that it was some poor, homeless wanderer
estrayed into this quiet, and, I fear, inhospitable village, where
there is no provision for such as he. I'm sure I wish he were safely
housed in one of our own outbuildings rather than roaming the fields on
such a night. Even an old blanket thrown into one of the box-stalls
would have been comparative comfort."

"Y--es'm," assented Alfaretta, with small enthusiasm. But what she did
like to hear was Madam's talk of the old times when the now empty stable
was full of spirit