cryin' out mother,' says she, 'just as if she was hurt. I heard it so
plain that before I stopped to think it seemed as if she were right in
the next room. I'm afeard something has happened.' But the folks
laughed, and said she must ha' heard one of the lambs. 'No, it wasn't,'
says she, 'it was Katy.' And sure enough, just after dinner a young man
who lived neighbor to her come riding into the yard post-haste to get
her to go home, for the baby had pulled some hot water over on to
herself and was nigh scalded to death and cryin' for her mother every
minute. Now, who's going to explain that? It wasn't any common hearing
that heard that child's cryin' fifteen miles. And I can tell you another
thing that happened among my own folks. There was an own cousin of mine
married to a man by the name of John Hathorn. He was trading up to
Parsonsfield, and business run down, so he wound up there, and thought
he'd make a new start. He moved down to Denby, and while he was getting
under way, he left his family up to the old place, and at the time I
speak of, was going to move 'em down in about a fortnight.

"One morning his wife was fidgeting round, and finally she came down
stairs with her bonnet and shawl on, and said somebody must put the
horse right into the wagon and take her down to Denby. 'Why, what for,
mother?' they says. 'Don't stop to talk,' says she; 'your father is
sick, and wants me. It's been a worrying me since before day, and I
can't stand it no longer.' And the short of the story is that she kept
hurrying 'em faster and faster, and then she got hold of the reins
herself, and when they got within five miles of the place the horse fell
dead, and she was nigh about crazy, and they took another horse at a
farm-house on the road. It was the spring of the year, and the going was
dreadful, and when they got to the house John Hathorn had just died, and
he had been calling for his wife up to 'most the last breath he drew. He
had been taken sick sudden the day before, but the folks knew it was bad