hastened by exposure and chill and grief, I suppose, her mind
gave way,--that's all!" And Ivory sighed drearily as he stretched
himself on the greensward, and looked off towards the snow-clad
New Hampshire hills." I've meant to write the story of the
'Cochrane craze' sometime, or such part of it as has to do with
my family history, and you shall read it if you like. I should
set down my child-hood and my boyhood memories, together with
such scraps of village hearsay as seem reliable. You were not so
much younger than I, but I was in the thick of the excitement,
and naturally I heard more than you, having so bitter a reason
for being interested. Jacob Cochrane has altogether disappeared
from public view, but there's many a family in Maine and New
Hampshire, yes, and in the far West, that will feel his influence
for years to come."

"I should like very much to read your account. Aunt Abby's
version, for instance, is so different from Uncle Bart's that one
can scarcely find the truth between the two; and father's bears
no relation to that of any of the others."

"Some of us see facts and others see visions, replied Ivory, "and
these differences of opinion crop up in the village every day
when anything noteworthy is discussed. I came upon a quotation in
my reading last evening that described it:

'One said it thundered . . . another that an angel spake'"

"Do you feel as if your father was dead, Ivory?"

"I can only hope so! That thought brings sadness with it, as one