At One End, And Just On The River Bank, Was A
Ruined Building, Little Better Than A Heap Of Rubbish, With A Stack Of
Chimneys Rising Like A Solitary Tower Out Of The Centre.
The current of
the Sound rushed along just below it, with wildly-grown trees drooping
their branches into its waves.
Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the haunted house of father
red-cap, and called to mind the story of Peechy Prauw. The evening was
approaching, and the light falling dubiously among these places, gave a
melancholy tone to the scene, well calculated to foster any lurking
feeling of awe or superstition. The night-hawk, wheeling about in the
highest regions of the air, emitted his peevish, boding cry. The
woodpecker gave a lonely tap now and then on some hollow tree, and the
firebird,[3] as he streamed by them with his deep-red plumage, seemed
like some genius flitting about this region of mystery.
[Footnote 3: Orchard Oreole.]
They now came to an enclosure that had once been a garden. It extended
along the foot of a rocky ridge, but was little better than a
wilderness of weeds, with here and there a matted rose-bush, or a peach
or plum tree grown wild and ragged, and covered with moss. At the lower
end of the garden they passed a kind of vault in the side of the bank,
facing the water. It had the look of a root-house. The door, though
decayed, was still strong, and appeared to have been recently patched
up.
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