“Wal, Cap'n Eb he picked him up, and built up the fire, and sort o' comforted him up, 'cause the crittur was in distress o' mind that was drefful. The awful Providence, ye see, had awakened him, and his sin had been set home to his soul; and he was under such conviction, that it all had to come out,--how old Cack's father had murdered poor Lommedieu for his money, and Cack had been privy to it, and helped his father build the body up in that very chimbley; and he said that he hadn't had neither peace nor rest since then, and that was what had driv' him away from ordinances; for ye know sinnin' will always make a man leave prayin'. Wal, Cack didn't live but a day or two. Cap'n Eb he got the minister o' Sherburn and one o' the selectmen down to see him; and they took his deposition. He seemed railly quite penitent; and Parson Carryl he prayed with him, and was faithful in settin' home the providence to his soul: and so, at the eleventh hour, poor old Cack might have got in; at least it looks a leetle like it. He was distressed to think he couldn't live to be hung. He sort o' seemed to think, that if he was fairly tried, and hung, it would make it all square. He made Parson Carryl promise to have the old mill pulled down, and bury the body; and, after he was dead, they did it. “Cap'n Eb he was one of a party o' eight that pulled down the chimbley; and there, sure enough, was the skeleton of poor Lommedieu. “So there you see, boys, there can't be no iniquity so hid but what it 'll come out. The wild Indians of the forest, and the stormy winds and tempests, j'ined together to bring out this'ere.” “For my part,” said Aunt Lois sharply, “I never believed that story.” “Why, Lois,” said my grandmother, “Cap'n Eb Sawin was a regular church-member, and a most respectable man.” “Law, mother! I don't doubt he thought so. I suppose he and Cack got drinking toddy together, till he got asleep, and dreamed it. I wouldn't believe such a thing if it did happen right before my face and eyes. I should only think I was crazy, that's all.” “Come, Lois, if I was you, I wouldn't talk so like a Sadducee,” said my grandmother. “What would become of all the accounts in Dr. Cotton Mather's 'Magnilly' if folks were like you?” “Wal,” said Sam Lawson, drooping contemplatively over the coals, and gazing into the fire, “there's a putty consid'able sight o' things in this world that's true; and then ag'in there's a sight o' things that ain't true. Now, my old gran'ther used to say, 'Boys, says he, 'if ye want to lead a pleasant and prosperous life, ye must contrive allers to keep jest the _happy medium_ between truth and falsehood.' Now, that are's my doctrine.” Aunt Lois knit severely. “Boys,” said Sam, “don't you want ter go down with me and get a mug o' cider?” Of course we did, and took down a basket to bring up some apples to roast.