she belonged to a large and respectable school of philosophers in this
particular mode of testing evidence, which, after all, the reader will
perceive has its conveniences.

"Anoder ting," said Candace; "as much as a dozen times, dis yer last
year, when I's been a-scourin' knives, a fork has fell an' stuck
straight up in de floor; an' de las' time I pinted it out to Miss
Marvyn, an' she on'y jes' said, 'Why, what o' dat, Candace?'"

"Well," said Miss Prissy, "I don't believe in _signs_, but then strange
things do happen. Now about dogs howling under windows,--why, I don't
believe in it a bit, but I never knew it fail that there was a death in
the house after."

"Ah, I tell ye what," said Candace, looking mysterious, "dogs knows a
heap more'n dey likes to tell!"

"Jes' so," said Miss Prissy. "Now I remember, one night, when. I was
watching with Miss Colonel Andrews, after Marthy Ann was born, that we
heard the _mournfulest_ howling that ever you did hear. It seemed to
come from right under the front stoop; and Miss Andrews she just
dropped the spoon in her gruel, and says she, 'Miss Prissy, do, for
pity's sake, just go down and see what that noise is.' And I went down
and lifted up one of the loose boards of the stoop, and what should I
see there but their Newfoundland pup?--there that creature had dug a
grave, and was a-sitting by it, crying!"

Candace drew near to Miss Prissy, dark with expressive interest, as her
voice, in this awful narration, sank to a whisper.