himself."

The words of the unbeliever were listened to with a kind of pity, as if
he had blasphemed in an assembly of monks.

One of these gentlemen exclaimed:

"And yet miracles were performed in olden times."

"I deny it," replied the other: "Why cannot they be performed now?"

Then, each mentioned some fact, some fantastic presentiment some instance
of souls communicating with each other across space, or some case of the
secret influence of one being over another. They asserted and maintained
that these things had actually occurred, while the sceptic angrily
repeated:

"Humbug! humbug! humbug!"

At last he rose, threw away his cigar, and with his hands in his pockets,
said: "Well, I also have two stories to tell you, which I will afterwards
explain. Here they are:

"In the little village of Etretat, the men, who are all seafaring folk,
go every year to Newfoundland to fish for cod. One night the little son
of one of these fishermen woke up with a start, crying out that his
father was dead. The child was quieted, and again he woke up exclaiming
that his father was drowned. A month later the news came that his father
had, in fact, been swept off the deck of his smack by a billow. The widow
then remembered how her son had woke up and spoken of his father's death.