“Well, then, it wasn't a ghost,” said I, “after all, and it _was_ a woman.” “Wal, there 'tis, you see. Folks don't know that 'are yit, 'cause there it's jest as broad as 'tis long. Now, look at it. There's Cinthy, she's a good, pious gal: she locks her chamber-doors, both on 'em, and goes to bed, and wakes up in the night, and there's a woman there. She jest shets her eyes, and the woman's gone. She gits up and looks, and both doors is locked jest as she left 'em. That 'ere woman wa'n't flesh and blood now, no way,--not such flesh and blood as we knows on; but then they say Cinthy might hev dreamed it! “Wal, now, look at it t'other way. There's Aunt Sally Dickerson; she's a good woman and a church-member: wal, she sees a woman in a cloak with all her bundles brought out o' Cap'n Brown's house, and put into a kerridge, and driv off, atween three and four o'clock in the mornin'. Wal, that 'ere shows there must 'a' ben a real live woman kep' there privately, and so what Cinthy saw wasn't a ghost. “Wal, now, Cinthy says Aunt Sally might 'a' dreamed it,--that she got her head so full o' stories about the Cap'n Brown house, and watched it till she got asleep, and hed this 'ere dream; and, as there didn't nobody else see it, it might 'a' ben, you know. Aunt Sally's clear she didn't dream, and then agin Cinthy's clear _she_ didn't dream; but which on 'em was awake, or which on 'em was asleep, is what ain't settled in Oldtown yet.” COLONEL EPH'S SHOE-BUCKLES. [Illustration: 9188] ES, this 'ere's Tekawampait's grave,” said Sam Lawson, sitting leisurely down on an ancient grass-grown mound, ornamented by a mossy black slate-stone slab, with a rudely-carved cherub head and wings on top. “And who was Tekawampait?” “I wanter know, now, if your granny hain't told you who Tekawampait was?” said Sam, pushing back his torn straw hat, and leaning against the old slanting gravestone. “No, she never told us.”