Ghost Stories of an Antiquary | Page 8

in fine, as a man wrapped up
in his books, and it was a matter of great surprise among his neighbours
that he should ever have heard of his orphan cousin, Stephen Elliott,
much more that he should have volunteered to make him an inmate of
Aswarby Hall.
Whatever may have been expected by his neighbours, it is certain that
Mr Abney--the tall, the thin, the austere--seemed inclined to give his
young cousin a kindly reception. The moment the front-door was
opened he darted out of his study, rubbing his hands with delight.
'How are you, my boy?--how are you? How old are you?' said he--'that
is, you are not too much tired, I hope, by your journey to eat your

supper?'
'No, thank you, sir,' said Master Elliott; 'I am pretty well.'
'That's a good lad,' said Mr Abney. 'And how old are you, my boy?'
It seemed a little odd that he should have asked the question twice in
the first two minutes of their acquaintance.
'I'm twelve years old next birthday, sir,' said Stephen.
'And when is your birthday, my dear boy? Eleventh of September, eh?
That's well--that's very well. Nearly a year hence, isn't it? I like--ha,
ha!--I like to get these things down in my book. Sure it's twelve?
Certain?'
'Yes, quite sure, sir.'
'Well, well! Take him to Mrs Bunch's room, Parkes, and let him have
his tea--supper--whatever it is.'
'Yes, sir,' answered the staid Mr Parkes; and conducted Stephen to the
lower regions.
Mrs Bunch was the most comfortable and human person whom
Stephen had as yet met at Aswarby. She made him completely at home;
they were great friends in a quarter of an hour: and great friends they
remained. Mrs Bunch had been born in the neighbourhood some
fifty-five years before the date of Stephen's arrival, and her residence at
the Hall was of twenty years' standing. Consequently, if anyone knew
the ins and outs of the house and the district, Mrs Bunch knew them;
and she was by no means disinclined to communicate her information.
Certainly there were plenty of things about the Hall and the Hall
gardens which Stephen, who was of an adventurous and inquiring turn,
was anxious to have explained to him. 'Who built the temple at the end
of the laurel walk? Who was the old man whose picture hung on the
staircase, sitting at a table, with a skull under his hand?' These and

many similar points were cleared up by the resources of Mrs Bunch's
powerful intellect. There were others, however, of which the
explanations furnished were less satisfactory.
One November evening Stephen was sitting by the fire in the
housekeeper's room reflecting on his surroundings.
'Is Mr Abney a good man, and will he go to heaven?' he suddenly asked,
with the peculiar confidence which children possess in the ability of
their elders to settle these questions, the decision of which is believed
to be reserved for other tribunals.
'Good?--bless the child!' said Mrs Bunch. 'Master's as kind a soul as
ever I see! Didn't I never tell you of the little boy as he took in out of
the street, as you may say, this seven years back? and the little girl, two
years after I first come here?'
'No. Do tell me all about them, Mrs Bunch--now, this minute!'
'Well,' said Mrs Bunch, 'the little girl I don't seem to recollect so much
about. I know master brought her back with him from his walk one day,
and give orders to Mrs Ellis, as was housekeeper then, as she should be
took every care with. And the pore child hadn't no one belonging to
her--she telled me so her own self--and here she lived with us a matter
of three weeks it might be; and then, whether she were somethink of a
gipsy in her blood or what not, but one morning she out of her bed
afore any of us had opened a eye, and neither track nor yet trace of her
have I set eyes on since. Master was wonderful put about, and had all
the ponds dragged; but it's my belief she was had away by them gipsies,
for there was singing round the house for as much as an hour the night
she went, and Parkes, he declare as he heard them a-calling in the
woods all that afternoon. Dear, dear! a hodd child she was, so silent in
her ways and all, but I was wonderful taken up with her, so
domesticated she was--surprising.'
'And what about the little boy?' said Stephen.
'Ah, that pore boy!' sighed Mrs Bunch. 'He were a foreigner--Jevanny

he called hisself--and he come a-tweaking his 'urdy-gurdy round and
about the drive one winter day, and master 'ad him in that minute, and
ast all