“Mr. Simmons! Oh, Boston! Oh, Schoolmarm! Oh, come!” was repeated over and over, and dancing first on one foot and then the other, in her nervousness, was Sally Sullivan, a girl of sixteen. “Ma’s actin’ so queer,” she cried. “I can’t wake her up!” Sure enough. We rushed to the house, and there was Mrs. Sullivan lying on the floor, stone dead. By her side were the twelve empty Jamaica-ginger bottles, with another smaller bottle, smelling of camphor or some such drug, which in her stupor, she had reached for and drunk. “Doc” behaved himself at the funeral, swearing only at the end of the ceremony. That was Christmas Eve. On New-Year’s night there was a full moon and the same snow. The whole town was again sleeping peacefully, when it was awakened by a loud and barbarous noise. There was “Doc” Sullivan standing in his wagon—he was the head of a road menders’ gang—beating his horses with an ax. He had stopped at every milepost along the highway and clipped off the number, saying that he wanted no lies on his road. He had gone suddenly raving mad! There was a man named Charley Williams living near by, and he and I followed up to the Sullivan house. Charley was old, but he was fearless. I once saw him walk right up to a man who was pointing a loaded pistol at him and take it out of his hand. He always said: “There ain’t no danger in a gun.” When we arrived at “Doc’s” we saw a strange sight. There he was, kneeling on the floor, praying, with Sammy in his arms, and every time he uttered “O Lord!” he jumped, with the strength of a giant, six inches in the air, coming down upon his knees again until they were nothing but a mass of huckleberry jelly. While Charley went for help I promised to keep watch over this maniac, and it took all of my mental powers to control him. He seemed to realize, in his subconscious mind, that his children had a terrible heritage, so he decided to destroy them. First he started to lug all of the things out of the house, smashing them, as he did so, with the ax. His intention, he confided to me, was to burn it and then start out after his children. All the time he kept muttering about “those chains at Stockton—you bet I’ll keep the kids away from those chains at Stockton.” On the promise that I would marry Sally and take him East he gave up his ax, and by the time Charley had come back he was quite willing to go down to Sissons. Charley had got the one physician of the countryside to go on ahead and say we were coming, and, although the men had all promised to help, there was not one in sight when we “hit” the town.