which, as being the limit of his own day's journey, the pedler had
naturally mentioned in his inquiry.

"Well, then," rejoined Dominicus Pike, "let's have the latest news
where you did come from. I'm not particular about Parker's Falls. Any
place will answer."

Being thus importuned, the traveller--who was as ill-looking a fellow
as one would desire to meet in a solitary piece of woods--appeared to
hesitate a little, as if he was either searching his memory for news
or weighing the expediency of telling it. At last, mounting on the
step of the cart, he whispered in the ear of Dominicus, though he
might have shouted aloud and no other mortal would have heard him.

"I do remember one little trifle of news," said he. "Old Mr.
Higginbotham of Kimballton was murdered in his orchard at eight
o'clock last night by an Irishman and a nigger. They strung him up to
the branch of a St. Michael's pear tree where nobody would find him
till the morning."

As soon as this horrible intelligence was communicated the stranger
betook himself to his journey again with more speed than ever, not
even turning his head when Dominicus invited him to smoke a Spanish
cigar and relate all the particulars. The pedler whistled to his mare
and went up the hill, pondering on the doleful fate of Mr.
Higginbotham, whom he had known in the way of trade, having sold him
many a bunch of long nines and a great deal of pig-tail, lady's twist
and fig tobacco. He was rather astonished at the rapidity with which
the news had spread. Kimballton was nearly sixty miles distant in a
straight line; the murder had been perpetrated only at eight o'clock