thought it was the cholera, others the pangs of conscience, some the
whisky, and others a mixture of all three; at any rate, he died
without speaking to the priest.

Next day another neighbour died, Mr. Harrigan. He had lost one arm,
but with the other he wrote a good hand, and registered deeds in the
County Court. I called to see him. He was in bed lying on his back,
his one arm outside the coverlet, his heaving chest was bare, and his
face was ghastly pale. There were six men in the room, one of whom
said:

"Do you know me, Mr. Harrigan?"

"Sure, divil a dog in Lockport but knows you, Barney," said the dying man.

Barney lived in Lockport, and in an audible whisper said to us: "Ain't
he getting on finely? He'll be all right again to-morrow, please
God."

"And didn't the doctor say I'd be dead before twelve this day?"
asked Harrigan.

I looked at the clock on the mantelshelf. It was past ten. He died
an hour later.

One day the young man from Vermont rose from his seat and looked at
me across the schoolroom. I thought he was going to say something.
He took down his hat, went to the door, turned and looked at me
again, but he did not speak or make any sign. Next morning his place
was vacant, and I asked one of the boys if he had seen the young man.