streak of light, and you could see the dust dancin' in
it. The door opened jest enough to let us in, and we both stood there
peerin' around and tryin' to see what sort of a place we'd got into.
The first thing I made out was a heap of old rusty iron. I started to
take a step, and my foot struck against it. There was old bolts and
screws and horseshoes and scraps of old cast iron and nails of every
size, all laid together in a big heap. The place seemed to be full of
somethin', but I couldn't see what it all was till my eyes got used to
the darkness. There was a row of nails goin' all round the wall, and
old clothes hangin' on every one of 'em. And down on the floor there
was piles of old clothes, folded smooth and laid one on top o' the
other jest like a washerwoman would fold 'em and pile 'em up. Harvey's
old clothes and Mary's and the children's, things that any
right-minded person would 'a' put in the rag-bag or given away to
anybody that could make use of 'em; there they was, all hoarded up in
that old room jest like they was of some value. And over in one corner
was all the old worn-out tin things that you could think of: buckets
and pans and milk-strainers and dippers and cups. And next to them
was all the glass and china that'd been broken in the years Mary and
Harvey'd been keepin' house. And there was a lot of old brooms,
nothin' but stubs, tied together jest like new brooms in the store.
And there was all the children's broken toys, dolls, and doll dresses,
and even some glass marbles that little Harvey used to play with. The
dust was lyin' thick and heavy over everything, and the spiderwebs
looked like black strings hangin' from the ceilin'; but things of the
same sort was all lyin' together jest like some woman had put the
place in order.

"You've heard tell of that bird, child, that gathers up all sorts o'
rubbish and carries it off to its nest and hides it? Well, I thought
about that bird; and the heap of old iron reminded me of a little
boy's pocket when you turn it wrong side out at night, and the china
and glass and doll-rags made me think of the playhouses I used to make
under the trees when I was a little girl. I've seen many curious
places, honey, but nothin' like that old cabin. The moldy smell
reminded me of the grave; and when I looked at all the dusty, old
plunder, the ragged clothes hangin' against the wall like so many
ghosts, and then thought of the dead man that had put 'em there, I
tell yo