“’Twas to him that Amos was fetched from India. One mornin’ Josiah and I were standin’ in the doorway of his barn talkin’. The old barn used to be closer to the house, but Amos tore it down after he built that big new one. Josiah and I stood in the doorway talkin’ about a new yoke of oxen; nothin’ excitin’, for there wasn’t any cause for it. We stood in the doorway, both facin’ out, when Josiah, without givin’ any notice, sort of pitched forward and fell face down in the snow. I turned him over and tried to lift him up, but when I saw his face I was scared. Just at that particular minute the doctor, with Amos sittin’ in the sleigh beside him, drove into the avenue and hurried along as if he knew there was trouble. We carried Josiah into the house, but ’twa’n’t any use. He was dead before we got him there. It was heart disease. At the funeral I said to the doctor it was lucky he happened along just then, even if he couldn’t save him, and I found there was no happen about it; that Amos had run to his house just as he was starting off somewheres else, and told him Josiah was dyin’ and to get there as fast as he could.” “That’s very strange,” Molly said, in a low voice. She had listened to this story with a feeling of awe, for she believed the Deacon to be a truthful man, and this was an experience of his own. “This mysterious faculty,” she said, “whatever it was, did he realize it fully himself?” “I guess he did!” and the Deacon chuckled as he went on with his work. “And he used to play tricks with it. I tell you he was a handful.” “Did you say he lost it as he grew up?” The Deacon turned about and answered, in a serious tone: “No. But he wants folks to think so. All the same, there’s something between Amos and the Almighty that the rest of us ain’t into.”