prophets, true and false, in the days to come, and other
processions following them; and the river watched and listened
too, as it hurried on towards the sea with its story of the
present that was sometime to be the history of the past.

When Jacob Cochrane was leading his overwrought, ecstatic band
across the river, Waitstill Baxter, then a child, was watching
the strange, noisy company from the window of a little brick
dwelling on the top of the Town-House Hill.

Her stepmother stood beside her with a young baby in her arms,
but when she saw what held the gaze of the child she drew her
away, saying: "We mustn't look, Waitstill; your father don't like
it! "

"Who was the big man at the head, mother? "

"His name is Jacob Cochrane, but you mustn't think or talk about
him; he is very wicked."

"He doesn't look any wickeder than the others," said the child.
"Who was the man that fell down in the road, mother, and the
woman that knelt and prayed over him? Why did he fall, and why
did she pray, mother?"

"That was Master Aaron Boynton, the schoolmaster, and his wife.
He only made believe to fall down, as the Cochranites do; the way
they carry on is a disgrace to the village, and that's the reason
your father won't let us look at them."