The Knot Hole

To understand the Bog Art and the Knot Hole One day a bog art took up residence, a wild howl I never discovered, in the house of a quiet, inoffensive farmer George Gilbertson. Once there it seemed to decide that it was the rightful owner and caused a good deal of annoyance. They never saw it, of course, as a bog art is rarely visible to the h It seemed to take a particular dis Sometimes their bread and butter would be snatched away, or their porringers of bread and milk be capsized by an invisible hand. At other times the curtains of their beds would be shaken backwards and forwards, or a heavy weight would press on and nearly suffocate them. The parents had often, when hearing their cries, to fly to their aid. There was a kind of closet, formed by a wooden partition on the kitchen stairs, and a large knot having been driven out of one of the pine boards of w Into the agent was, of course, the bog art, and though the first time it was terrifying, it soon became their amusement to put the shoehorn into the hole and had it shot back at them. T At night heavy steps were heard clattering down the stairs, Sounds The bog art at length proved such a torment that the farmer and T Oh, you're leaving the old house at last? Yes, Johnny, my friend, I'm forced to. That awful bog art torments us so much we can neither rest night nor day from it. It seems to have such a grudge against the poor c And so, you see, we are forced to move. He had just uttered the words when a voice from a deep upright churn cried out, Yes, yes, Georgey, we are moving, you see. Oh, curse you, my poor farmer. If I'd known you were there, I wouldn't have moved an inch. No, no, it's no use, Molly, turning to We might as well go back to the old house as be tormented in another that isn't as comfortable I believe they did turn back and seem to come to a better understanding with the bog art, though it continued its trick of firing the horn from the knothole. I remember an old tailor who used to visit the farmhouse on