entirely new and fresh audience. He was adroit in leading the
conversation around to a point where the stories would come in
appropriately, and we helped him as much as possible. In a small
neighborhood all the people know each other's stories and experiences by
heart, and I have no doubt the old captain had been snubbed many times
on beginning a favorite anecdote. There was a story which he told us
that first day, which he assured us was strictly true, and it is
certainly a remarkable instance of the influence of one mind upon
another at a distance. It seems to me worth preserving, at any rate; and
as we heard it from the old man, with his solemn voice and serious
expression and quaint gestures, it was singularly impressive.

"When I was a youngster," said Captain Lant, "I was an orphan, and I was
bound out to old Mr. Peletiah Daw's folks, over on the Ridge Road. It
was in the time of the last war, and he had a nephew, Ben Dighton, a
dreadful high-strung, wild fellow, who had gone off on a privateer. The
old man, he set everything by Ben; he would disoblige his own boys any
day to please him. This was in his latter days, and he used to have
spells of wandering and being out of his head; and he used to call for
Ben and talk sort of foolish about him, till they would tell him to
stop. Ben never did a stroke of work for him, either, but he was a
handsome fellow, and had a way with him when he was good-natured. One
night old Peletiah had been very bad all day and was getting quieted
down, and it was after supper; we sat round in the kitchen, and he lay
in the bedroom opening out. There were some pitch-knots blazing, and the
light shone in on the bed, and all of a sudden something made me look up
and look in; and there was the old man setting up straight, with his
eyes shining at me like a cat's. 'Stop 'em!' says he; '_stop 'em!_' and
his two sons run in then to catch hold of him, for they thought he was
beginning with one of his wild spells; but he fell back on the bed and