To us young folks who had so recently been camping in the "great woods" and had passed along the foot of this very crag where the panther had been shot, the Old Squire's story was intensely interesting. We could vividly imagine the scene and the fears of the two pioneer boys, on that snowy November forenoon, more than fifty years ago. When I went up to bed that night, I found Halse soundly asleep. He did not wake and I did not disturb him; but he was astir and dressing, when I waked next morning, and before we went down, he began to laugh and to ridicule us, on account of the fright we were in at the cabin when those stones were tumbling on the roof. "And I broke up your camping trip, anyway," he added, exultantly. "You were the scaredest lot of chickens I ever saw! Shut yourselves up in your shanty and fastened the door with props!" I did not much blame him for wanting to crow a bit, after all that had happened. On the whole it was fortunate that we came home when we did. The storm continued; all next day it poured and drove furiously; but apple-cutting went on blithely indoors. What was rare for him, Addison had a bad cold with a very sore throat; and we all retired early that night, not having as yet caught up all arrears of broken sleep from the camping trip. But it was not to be a night of rest; and I for one was destined to have an exciting experience before morning. Shortly after midnight there came an obstreperous knocking and thumping at the outer door, so loud that it waked us in our beds up-stairs. It was repeated twice; and then I heard the Old Squire below call out, "Who's there?" "It's me," replied a troubled voice. "Well, but who's 'me?'" "Bobbie Sylvester. And please, sir, my folks want you to send one of the boys after the doctor, quick!" There was a sudden exclamation of wrath and indignation from Addison in his room, with a chain of comments, which it is not necessary to remember. "Why, what's the matter?" we heard the Old Squire call out. But just then we distinguished the murmur of Gram's voice, and a moment later heard her coming up the stairs to speak to us. "Boys," said she, "one of you must ride to the village after the doctor for Mrs. Sylvester." "But, Gram, it's a terrible night," Ad expostulated. "I know it, boys," said she. "It's a bad night, but somebody must go." "Let Sylvester go himself, then!" cried Addison, angrily. "Well, but you know he hasn't any horse, and has rheumatism," said the old lady. Then began to dawn on me what I came to know full well later, that whenever certain of our poorer neighbors were taken ill, or an additional small member was about to be added to their families, they were very prone to come hurrying to our door at dead of night, beseeching some of us to ride seven miles to the village for the doctor.