"What, the little Irishman—as I call him? Some folks call him an Englishman, but I say he's an Irishman. O, he's all right. He's often taking a notion to go nobody knows where, and to come back nobody knows when. Can't put no dependence on him. But we never give ourselves any trouble about it; we're used to his tricks. Why, I don't suppose he knows any more about us, or we about him, than if he lived 'tother side of the ocean. We don't hold to meddling with other folks' business. He'll turn up again, I'll warrant. Why, you 'couldn't kill' the little feller if you should try." "How long has he been away this time?" "Can't say as to that. The last time we saw him was Tuesday afternoon. He was hoeing his potatoes there—right over there," pointing through the window; "and I said to the folks, guess the little Irishman means to get ahead of us. Soon after I saw him go toward his shanty, to rest, I suppose. You see he's got only one hand, and gets tired pretty easy, and then goes down by the cabin, and stands there and takes a smoke till he feels better. Well, as I was saying, he went down there, and pretty soon I heard a gun go off down that way, and Shuber says to me, 'What does that mean?' and says I, 'O, it's nothing but a wagon jouncing over a root or a stone in the road.' After that he was gone from the shanty, and I spoke to Shuber about it." "When did you find out that he was gone?" "Thursday morning. You see Shuber and I were at hunting deer along the creek, and we had to go right close to his house, for the creek is close by, you know. And says I, 'Wonder if the little Irishman's up yet? Let's give him a call, and see!' So I called out 'Callahan, Callahan!' but he didn't answer. And we both hollered, but all was still as death. And, says I, 'The little feller sleeps sound this morning.'" "Did you go back that way?" "Yes, but 'twas on 'tother side of the house. And we called to him again, but he didn't say a word, nor show his head." "When you went after deer, the path led you within a few feet of his dwelling and the fence. Did you see any thing unusual there? any blood on the rails, or on the ground, or any article of clothing?" "No; it was so dark you couldn't see your hand before your face. Saw his vest, though, kicking about, that's all; but he's a mighty careless feller about leaving his things round." "Well," said I, "you are a neighbor to him, and acquainted with these woods; we suspect something very serious has befallen him, and we want you and Shuber to go and help find out about it." They consented; but as they walked, grew excited, and talked fast; and although no charges had been made against them, protested that "they" didn't murder "the little Irishman," that they knew nothing about the matter, that they believed he would turn up alive and well;—ending by stating that he was killed; that they knew who the murderer was; that it was a young German living in the vicinity, and that they could prove it.