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Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"

He had crept out of the
river."
"Do you mean--a sort of ghost or demon?"
"I didn't know."
"Not like an ordinary man--not like any other man you've ever seen?"
"Oh, no. All wild--fierce and dreadful. Not standing upright--more
like an animal in the shape of a man."
"But surely you told your Granny, or somebody?"
"No. I've never told a soul except you."
"An' you say you were scared, though?"
"Oh, I was, rarely scared."
"Then you must have told your Granny, or one of 'em. You've forgotten,
but I expect you told people at the time."
"I didn't. I didn't dare to at first. I thought he'd come after me, if
I did. I was afraid."
Dale grunted again. "An' d'you mean to say you'd the grit in you to
come back here all the same, after that?"
"Not for a little while. Then I did. I was all a twitter, so
frightened still, but I was fascinated for to do it too--just to see."
"But you never saw him again."
"No, and then I began to think it was all a fancy. D'you think it was
a fancy, and not real?"
"My dear girl, no;" and Dale shrugged his shoulders. "You prob'ly saw
some poor devil of a tramp who had slept here, and was getting on the
move after his night's rest." Then he took a step away from the tree,
and spoke curtly.


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