For a long time the two men lay in silence, face downward, on the stone. Then the storm went by and the moon came climbing up the other side of the mountain, and by its light they could make out the narrow confines of their refuge. It was hardly ten feet in length and breadth, and was divided down the middle by a crevice. They could see the river whirling on all sides. To their right, over the stretch of water, rose the Tuscaroras; to their other hand they looked into the blackness of the woods which extended from the bank to the ridges miles away. “Parson, do ye hear that rumblin’, that rumblin’ jest like the mill in busy times, ’hen all the wheels is goin’?” Huckin was sitting up watching Dawson wring the water from his felt hat. The rector strained his ears. “That’s the dam, Parson. It’s jest a piece below here, an’ mighty near we come to hearin’ that soun’ most onpleasant loud. Who’d ’a’ thot we’d ever hit this here bit o’ rock?” “Why, Eben, I rather had an idea all along that we might do so,” Dawson laughed. “I was watching for it. I had no intention of letting myself get drowned when you heathen in the valley needed a missionary so badly.” “True, Parson, true,” said the old man fervently. “It ’ud ’a’ ben a hard blow fer the walley to hed you tuk jest at this time.” The rector smiled faintly. He gazed inquiringly at his companion. The moon shining full on Eben’s countenance gave him a saintly appearance, for the rougher features had disappeared in the half-light, and the long white hair and beard, so unkempt in the full glare of day, now framed a benevolent, serious face. Dawson was satisfied. For a long time nothing passed between the two. Then Eben nudged the rector gently and whispered, “D’ye believe in sperrits?” “Why, of course not,” was the reply. “Well, I’m glad you don’t.” “Why did you ask?” “Well, I thot ef ye did you’d like to know this here rock is sayd to have a ha’nt.” “To be haunted!” exclaimed Dawson, edging a little closer. “Yes, be Bill Springle’s ghos’. I never put much stock in the story meself, but that’s what folks sais. I know them ez claims to hev seen it. I knows one man ez refused to sleep here all night fer a five-dollar bill.” “Goodness me!” said the rector. “I had no idea the people hereabouts were so superstitious.” “It ain’t jest superstition, Parson. It’s mostly seein’ an’ believin’. Bill Springle’s ben dead these thirty year, an’ in that time, they sais, many folks hes seen him.” “Eben, the spirits of the dead have better things to do than to spend their nights sitting on cold, damp rocks.”