The Three McKennas

I was in advance, and as I entered the door-way through which the bear
had disappeared, I found myself in the kitchen where I had seen the
three women at their dinner. Wild confusion had been brought about in
a second. A table had been over-turned, broken dishes and tin things
were scattered on the floor, a wooden chair lay upon its back, and the
room seemed deserted. The rest of the party quickly rushed in behind
me, and great were their exclamations at the scene of havoc.

"I hope nothing has happened to the McKenna sisters," cried Mr.
Larramie. "They must have been in here!"

I did not suppose that anything serious had occurred, for the bear's
jaws were securely strapped, but with anxious haste I went into the
other part of the house. Across a hallway I saw an open door, and
from the room within came groans, or perhaps I should call them
long-drawn wails of woe.

I was in the room in a moment, and the others crowded through the
door-way behind me. It was a good-sized bedroom, probably the
"spare-room" of the first floor. In one corner was a tall and wide
high-posted bedstead, and in the very middle of it sat an elderly
woman drawn up into the smallest compass into which she could possibly
compress herself. Her eyes were closed, her jaws were dropped, her
spectacles hung in front of her mouth, her gray hair straggled over
her eyes, and her skin was of a soapy whiteness.

She paid no attention to the crowd of people in the room. Evidently
she was frightened out of her senses. Every moment she emitted a
doleful wail. As we stood gazing at her, and before we had time to
speak to her, she seemed to be seized by an upheaving spasm, the
influence of which was so great that she actually rose in the air, and
as she did so her wail intensified itself into a shriek, and as she
came down again with a sudden thump all the breath in her body seemed
to be bounced out in a gasp of woe.