A Vine On A House





About three miles from the little town of Norton, in Missouri, on

the road leading to Maysville, stands an old house that was last

occupied by a family named Harding. Since 1886 no one has lived in

it, nor is anyone likely to live in it again. Time and the disfavor

of persons dwelling thereabout are converting it into a rather

picturesque ruin. An observer unacquainted with its history would

hardly put it into the category of "haunted houses," yet in all the

region round such is its evil reputation. Its windows are without

glass, its doorways without doors; there are wide breaches in the

shingle roof, and for lack of paint the weatherboarding is a dun

gray. But these unfailing signs of the supernatural are partly

concealed and greatly softened by the abundant foliage of a large

vine overrunning the entire structure. This vine--of a species

which no botanist has ever been able to name--has an important part

in the story of the house.



The Harding family consisted of Robert Harding, his wife Matilda,

Miss Julia Went, who was her sister, and two young children. Robert

Harding was a silent, cold-mannered man who made no friends in the

neighborhood and apparently cared to make none. He was about forty

years old, frugal and industrious, and made a living from the little

farm which is now overgrown with brush and brambles. He and his

sister-in-law were rather tabooed by their neighbors, who seemed to

think that they were seen too frequently together--not entirely

their fault, for at these times they evidently did not challenge

observation. The moral code of rural Missouri is stern and

exacting.



Mrs. Harding was a gentle, sad-eyed woman, lacking a left foot.



At some time in 1884 it became known that she had gone to visit her

mother in Iowa. That was what her husband said in reply to

inquiries, and his manner of saying it did not encourage further

questioning. She never came back, and two years later, without

selling his farm or anything that was his, or appointing an agent to

look after his interests, or removing his household goods, Harding,

with the rest of the family, left the country. Nobody knew whither

he went; nobody at that time cared. Naturally, whatever was movable

about the place soon disappeared and the deserted house became

"haunted" in the manner of its kind.



One summer evening, four or five years later, the Rev. J. Gruber, of

Norton, and a Maysville attorney named Hyatt met on horseback in

front of the Harding place. Having business matters to discuss,

they hitched their animals and going to the house sat on the porch

to talk. Some humorous reference to the somber reputation of the

place was made and forgotten as soon as uttered, and they talked of

their business affairs until it grew almost dark. The evening was

oppressively warm, the air stagnant.



Presently both men started from their seats in surprise: a long

vine that covered half the front of the house and dangled its

branches from the edge of the porch above them was visibly and

audibly agitated, shaking violently in every stem and leaf.



"We shall have a storm," Hyatt exclaimed.



Gruber said nothing, but silently directed the other's attention to

the foliage of adjacent trees, which showed no movement; even the

delicate tips of the boughs silhouetted against the clear sky were

motionless. They hastily passed down the steps to what had been a

lawn and looked upward at the vine, whose entire length was now

visible. It continued in violent agitation, yet they could discern

no disturbing cause.



"Let us leave," said the minister.



And leave they did. Forgetting that they had been traveling in

opposite directions, they rode away together. They went to Norton,

where they related their strange experience to several discreet

friends. The next evening, at about the same hour, accompanied by

two others whose names are not recalled, they were again on the

porch of the Harding house, and again the mysterious phenomenon

occurred: the vine was violently agitated while under the closest

scrutiny from root to tip, nor did their combined strength applied

to the trunk serve to still it. After an hour's observation they

retreated, no less wise, it is thought, than when they had come.



No great time was required for these singular facts to rouse the

curiosity of the entire neighborhood. By day and by night crowds of

persons assembled at the Harding house "seeking a sign." It does

not appear that any found it, yet so credible were the witnesses

mentioned that none doubted the reality of the "manifestations" to

which they testified.



By either a happy inspiration or some destructive design, it was one

day proposed--nobody appeared to know from whom the suggestion came-

-to dig up the vine, and after a good deal of debate this was done.

Nothing was found but the root, yet nothing could have been more

strange!



For five or six feet from the trunk, which had at the surface of the

ground a diameter of several inches, it ran downward, single and

straight, into a loose, friable earth; then it divided and

subdivided into rootlets, fibers and filaments, most curiously

interwoven. When carefully freed from soil they showed a singular

formation. In their ramifications and doublings back upon

themselves they made a compact network, having in size and shape an

amazing resemblance to the human figure. Head, trunk and limbs were

there; even the fingers and toes were distinctly defined; and many

professed to see in the distribution and arrangement of the fibers

in the globular mass representing the head a grotesque suggestion of

a face. The figure was horizontal; the smaller roots had begun to

unite at the breast.



In point of resemblance to the human form this image was imperfect.

At about ten inches from one of the knees, the cilia forming that

leg had abruptly doubled backward and inward upon their course of

growth. The figure lacked the left foot.



There was but one inference--the obvious one; but in the ensuing

excitement as many courses of action were proposed as there were

incapable counselors. The matter was settled by the sheriff of the

county, who as the lawful custodian of the abandoned estate ordered

the root replaced and the excavation filled with the earth that had

been removed.



Later inquiry brought out only one fact of relevancy and

significance: Mrs. Harding had never visited her relatives in Iowa,

nor did they know that she was supposed to have done so.



Of Robert Harding and the rest of his family nothing is known. The

house retains its evil reputation, but the replanted vine is as

orderly and well-behaved a vegetable as a nervous person could wish

to sit under of a pleasant night, when the katydids grate out their

immemorial revelation and the distant whippoorwill signifies his

notion of what ought to be done about it.





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