rilE PIIAN’rOM LADY
“You know,” said the child,
bought a haunted house.”
“Haunted! Why, do you believe in
“I have to believe what I’ve seen,” re
plied the hoy. “Do you want to know
of it? I guess it’s your due, since you
are going to live here.”
The stranger gave the child a scru
tinizing look, as if to discover whether
he truly acknowledged to himself what
he had said. This stranger was a young
man not yet through his twenties, and
it was hard for him to even imagine that
there were such things as ghosts.
“Go ahead,” he nodded.
“Well, this part of the story my gran
ny told me; This house used to belong
to young Mr. and Mrs. May, who had a
baby daughter, Jennie, about a year old
at the time and the very image of her
mother, for whom she was named. Mrs.
May was the jirettiest woman around
here, and her husband was nice-lookin’,
too. They hadn’t any living relatives
except an aunt of Mrs. May’s whom they
despised, and who returned their hate.
Happiness for them meant just this lit
tle cottage and their baby.
“One day Mr. May got a telegram.
Soon after, he left for a trip to Europe
on business. All the time he was gone
Mrs. May and little Jenny seemed to be
counting the days till his return. In
order to cheer them up, the old house
keeper had to be comforter, helper, and
playmate to the two, whom she loved
“It was about 8 o’clock one niglit when
word came that the ship the father was
on had run into a terrible storm and
had sunk. Mrs. May was almost crazed;
and Jane, the housekeeper, had hard
work soothing her. She could only par
tially quiet her, for she kept murmuring,
‘His was a watery grave—so shall mine
“Poor Jane was at her wits’ end. She
begged Jenny to go and lie down, but
to no avail. Finally, when Mrs. May
declared that she wished to go and sit
in the garden in the moonlight, she made
no objection, taking the precaution, how
ever, to sit at the kitchen window where
she could see the garden plainly.
“Soon things began to happen. Jane,
sitting silently in the dark with the
sleeping little Jenny in her arms, saw
Mrs. May bow her head, while sitting
before a fountain. The moonlight plain
ly outlined the fair hair, the slender
ness, and above all, the sad attitude of
the mother. By |;ome intuition which
she could not explain, Jane rose and,
laying the baby down, hastened to the
garden, feeling that Jenny would do
something rash before long. In getting
to the garden she was out of sight of
the window several seconds before reach
ing the back door. But finally there,
she stopped in dismay. Jenny, the moth
er, was nowhere to be seen.
“She frantically searched every nook
and every cranny of the garden and the
woods on either side of it; but there
was no trace of her who had been sit
ting there so quietly before. In desper
ate haste she returned to the kitchen,
caught up the baby, and rushed up that
hill yonder to my grandmother’s house
with her story. The neighbors were
called in, and they searched all night
with no results. Tlie next morning,
however, it was discovered that she had
drowned herself in the river that flows
a mile away from here.
“That wasn’t the last of it, either. The
baby Jenny disappeared, also, and soon
after that the housekeeper left. The
house went to the only relative, Mrs.
May’s Aunt Isabella, vdiose heirs sold
it to you, I suppose.
“Ever since that time I have heard
it said that the wife returns annually
on the date of her husband’s death and
visits the garden, sitting here with bowed
head for a few seconds each time and
then quickly disappearing. The only
time I have ever seen it was soon after
my 13th birthday. I plainly saw her
sitting here, the moonlight glinting her
hair like gold.”
“When did this happen?” queried the
new owner, David I.ys.
“This is the anniversary night. I’ve
got to get home now, sir. I don’t rel
ish seeing it again. Good night.”
Left alone, David was surer than ever
that he was going to like the place. A
lust for adventure was forever coursing
through Ids vtdns, and this was to his
likmg. 'rurning, he entered the house
At the stroke of eight David dismissed
the housekeeper and took a seat beside
the open kitchen window overlooking the
garden. The room was darkened. He
was going to have some fun.
Suddenly he realized that he wasn’t
having mucli fun after all. A creepy
feeling began to run up his spine, as
he saw advancing into the garden the
figure of a beautiful girl, golden-haired.
Then as he looked he felt the creepiness
recede, and he realized the presence of
another sensation. I>ove! It had come
to him like a flash, and contrary to the
custom of men, he realized it at once.
Love at first sight! And with a phan
tom lady, at that!
At this juncture, however, the girl sat
down, hoking her head. It seemed to
David that she kept that x^osition an
especially long time, for he had under
stood from the boy’s story that she van
ished at once. Finally he decided to
start something himself. Leaving no
chance of losing sight of her, he climbed
out the window and made for her, try
ing to tell himself all the while that he
just wanted to x^rove there was no one
there and that it was all imagination;
but having a feeling ’way back in his
heart that it was something else taking
Suddenly he stox:»X)ed with an excla
mation. He heard sobs—real sobs, not
those of fictionary ghosts. There was
nothing ghostlike about the girl, either;
she was real flesh and blood.
Hearing his cry, the girl straightened
up and looked at him with the eyes of
a trax:>ped rat.
“Don’t run,” he said quietly. “Tell
me about it, can’t you?”
‘“Oh!” 'I'he girl’s exclamation was one
of immense relief. ‘“I know you are ter
ribly angry with me for tresx:)assing.”
“No, not a bit. Is there some way I
can helx) you? Are you in trouhle?” asked
Words of explanation x^fAired forth
like a torrent from the girl’s lix^s.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?
My name is Jenny May. I know who
you are. You’re David I>ys, the new
owner of this x^lace. My father and
mother used to live here.”
“I know,” said David, sympathetically.
“Ah! Then you practically know my
story,” said Jenny.
“But I don’t know it all,” cried David,
“Well, you know of my mother and
my father’s death,” she said.
“And that you disaxipeared afterward,”
“When I was hereft of my x^arents by
death, Jane, the housekeex^er, realized
that mother’s Aunt Isabella would be
the only relative left for me to go to;
so, knowing Aunt Isabella’s hatred of
me, she took me away with her.
“I lived with her until I was 12 years
old; but she died soon after that, and
I was forced to beg Aunt Isabella’s
daughter (Aunt was dead) to take me
in, as I was too young to be able to
make a living. This was just what
Mary, the daughter, wanted; for Aunt
Isabella had instilled into her the hatred
she herself felt toward me, and had told
her how she thought any of the May
family should be treated. I got the
brunt of the house work, besides all the
sneers and ugly jokes thrown against
me on account of my mather’s disgrace
ful death, as they called it.
“But the only respite I got later was
when the family went off each year for
a vacation, leaving me alone. I always
managed to scrape up enough money to
come down here, esx:)ecially as it usually
happened about the time of the year
that my x^arents died. I visited this old
garden each year on the night riiy mother
died. When I came here, however, no
one knew of it but an old woman who
lives near the river and with whom I
lodged. I found out once that people
saw me sometimes and imagined I was
mother’s ghost, but I didn’t care; I
wanted solitude here, so I didn’t cor
rect the report.
“Tonight I learned of the new owner
and realized that my visits would have
to be ended, and so I came to take a
farewell of the garden. I stayed longer
than usual, but now I must go.”
“Wait,” said David. “Why could you
not, as the rightful heir, claim this house
as your x^roperty?”
'J'he girl sighed.
“When I was taken away secretly by
old Jane, there was no one but Aunt
Isabella to claim it. She was dead when
I a child of 12, went to live with Mary,
and Mary was careful not to mention
the proxierty in my x^resence. She re
cently sold it to you, and I didn't learn
of it until today. I could claim the
money, but I’d have to fight for it in
court, since Mary would never give it
iq) otherwise. Besides, I have no monej"
to engage a lawyer.’’
“I thought I had seen you before!”
cried David. “Don’t j'ou remember
when I went to see your cousin about
buying the house? You ox^ened the door
for me after I rang the bell at your
“I know.'’ Jenny was sad. “I didn’t
sux^x^ose you’d remember.”
‘“Ah, but I did,” said David, “and you
mustn’t feel shut out of here now. Just
come any time you wish.”
“Oh. you’re so kind!” cried Jenny.
•X* "X* ‘X" Tf
On the next anniversary there were
two heads hent over in front of the foun
tain instead of one; but their attitude
wasn’t sad. The nice, friendly old moon
grinned gleefully, then obligingly went
behind a cloud. Jenny was no longer
a May; her name was Jenny Lys.
AND TAKE HEART
TPIE CITY STREET FROM A
Now the little mouse, which the fear
of her numerous enemies, and especially
that frightful all-devouring creature,
man, had kept confined all the day to
her lurking x^lace, sports wantonly over
the tables and entertains her compan
ions in the kitchen pantry; now the
country doctor, coming home from a late
call, whqis his horse to a galloxi as he
nears the churchyard; now witches and
hobgoblins hold undisx^uted reign, and
restless sx^irits leave their graves to
frighten erring mortals; now the aged
clock, iqi the old back stairs, sends forth
twelve ghostly x^eals to the listening air;
in x^lain English, ’tis now midnight.
The golden moon in full-orbed glory
rolls through the sx^acious skies. Her
sx^reading rays, like silver rain, fall soft
ly on the earth beneath, and tinge each
object touched with her own precious
coloring. No cloud nor speck obscures
her light, or hides from the heavenly
queen her starry band of courtiers.
Amidst the heavenly bodies all is x^eace.
Their ever-watchful eyes look down with
loving care ux)on a slumbering world.
Why all this heavenly splendor? By
this serene beauty Nature but emxAa-
sizes the utter loathsomeness of man.
The city street, in all its filth and im
morality, now lies bare to the all-seeing
moon. No longer decked in holiday at
tire, nor warmed with the throb of pul
sating crowds, like the venerable belle,
strix)Xoed of all x^aint and adornment, her
shrivelled skin lies exx)osed.
Unconscious of the lavish splendor
showered about them, the wretched thief
with his ill-gotten gain, the miserable
street waif, old in crime and experience,
the would-be suicide, welcoming the icy
river, and the drunken, gambling wine-
bibber creep slowly by. These are the
only inhabitants of the nightly streets.
Rise, friendly clouds, and clothe the
midnight in mourning; hide this wretch
ed city from the light of the moon!
THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER
(A parody on the second stanza of
How well do I remember,
’Twas in that last December
That I took my Sally for a farewell ride.
We rode fast and then still faster,
Yet we met with no disaster
Till I turned, to my companion at my
‘'What a glorious night for riding!
All the trees seem slipping, sliding,
Down to meet us as we hasten on our
Speak to me, my pretty maiden,
Is thy heart so heavy laden
That thy tongue finds not a single word
Then my blood ran cold with terror.
Soy, oh say it was an error,
That she lay there—softly sleeping in
The day of the x^r(>'’erbial school-
ma’am lias gone. Dame Fashion has
decreed that even the stern x^edagogue
(or should I say x^edagogess?) whether
she be old or young, tall or short, stout
or thin, may bob her hair and shorten
her skirts. While this decree may have
disastrous effects iixion her axix^Lcation
of tlie rod, how glorious it is for age
and dignity to vanish with just a few
clqis of the scissors, and for her thus
to be transxiorted to the thrills of sweet
But even bobbed hair is not a requi
site to thrills, for it was only last Mon
day that one of our austere faculty—of
the non-bobbed hair type—had a sensa
tion that would verily have made a flaxi-
Xier’s heart go x^it-a-Xiat.
Last Monday morning Miss (Guess
Who?) while trix^x^ing gaily down Wash
ington street, her weekly x^axiers neatly
tucked under her arm so as to make
them invisible to the casual observer,
was attracted by the horn of a passing
truck. Thinking that her knowledge of
first aid was being demanded, she glanc
ed iqi, but no wounded one was in sight
—alas, the wounds of Cupid are invis
ible! Her glance met the sensation of
all sensations—the bland and alluring
smile of the youthful truck-driver.
Did he realize that he had flirted with
a dignified school-ma’am? Did he look
hurnilited or disgusted? And—did she
return the smile? Ask Miss (Guess
MILADY’S BEAUTY PARLOR
Selma Lamb’s Building
Bob Ciirling, Manicuring, Facials
Sailors love thee, ail men fear thee,
Each bows down at thy commands,
Wond’rous, dashing, roaring ocean.
Beating on the boundless sands.
Far, far down thy hidden caverns.
Mermaids laugh and dajice and play,
While upon thy mighty bosom
Ruthless storms their victims slay.
Rocking, raging, pounding ocean!
1 alone doth ever pray
That the God above who made me
Keep me from thy mighty sway.
The valleys are masses of flames;
Tell me, what wizard has caused this
Tell me, please, what is his name?”
TO A NIGHTINGALE
Pretty little nightingale,
A-singing in the tree.
Won’t you come and teach me now
How to sing like thee?
From thy tiny throat there comes
Music, oh, so sweet.
With those glorious, clean', sweet notes
None other can compete.
There is only one sm,all throat
That makes those trills depart
O’er the hills and woodlands, too,
Straight into my heart.
Co-operation does not hurt you.
Very strange as this may be;
Help the others with their burdens,
Joy ’twill bring, as you will see.
Why be miserly with cheering
Little smiles that help along?
See the sunlight through the cloudlets.
Make your life one grand, sweet song.
The sun doth slowly sink from sight.
Then fades the evening’s glow;
So shall this body lose its light
When forth my soul doth go.
“The hills are a furnace of color and
“ ’Tis Indian Summer come again;
Tis he whose mighty hand
Has spilled his paint-box o’er the plain.
And colored all the land.”
ATTA ’ ‘BOY”
Some Dance Music”
Yes, its the best in Radio—The
“Super-Het.” We bought ours
J. l. griffin
300 N. ELM STREET
Because he sells quality Radio
and gives expert service.
Watch This Space
for an announcement of
An exclusive store for
sporting goods in
Call 1013 for
Made in Greensboro
Salted Nuts, Mints, Sandwiches
Ice Cream, Fancy Boxes
VAN LINDLEY CO.
Greensboro :: :: High Point
110 W. Market St. Phone 806
Phil R. Carlton, Inc.
Carlton Bldg., Opposite Post Office
Greensboro, N. C. Phone 637
H. J. THURMAN
GREENSBORO, N. C.
‘There is none so blind as they
that won’t see.”
ALL THE NECESSITIES OF
New G. H. S.
In general those who nothing have to say
Continue to spend the longest time in
Colors for Championship Games
HEAD BANDS : ARM BANDS
I Come to the Supply Room