all along on this 'ere
river, more or less, till ye git to Chartham, _that's_ sitooated to
the mouth. Well, these fellers has been in the habit o' gittin'
together and goin' deown river and hirin' once in a spell, some sort
of old, cranky craft and goin' skylarking reound to Eastport and
Portland. Arter a while they'd cum back and smuggle in a cargo o'
somethin' or 'nother from the States, and sheirk the dooties. Well,
'beout a week ago, there was a confounded old crittur 'ut lives
halfway from here to Chartham, that informed on' em. So they jes'
collected together--'beout twenty fellers--and mobbed him. And the old
cuss fired into 'em and killed this 'ere man. So neow they've brought
his body hum, and his wife's a poor shiftless thing, and she's been a
hollerin' and screechin' ever sence she heerd of it".

"Poor woman!" said Mr. Norton, greatly shocked.

"Well, I might as well tell yer the whole on't", said Micah,
scratching his head. "Yer see, he was one o' these Catholics, this Pat
was, and the fellers went to the priest (he lives deown river, little
better'n ten mile from here) in course to git him to dew what's to be
done to the funeral, and the tarnal old heathen wouldn't dew it. He
sed Pat had gone agin the law o' the kentry, and he wouldn't hev
anything to do 'beout it. So the fellers brought the body along, and I
swear, Pat McGrath shall hev a decent funeral, any way".

"Where is the funeral to be?" asked Mr. Norton, after listening
attentively to the account Micah had given him.

"O! deown here 'n the grove. The body's to my heouse, and Maggie his
wife's there a screechin'. The graveyard's close here, and so they
didn't carry him hum".

"I'll, go down and see this poor Maggie", said Mr. Norton.

"Don't, for the Lord's sake. I'm eenermost crazy neow. The heouse is
jammed full o' folks, and there ain't nothin, ready. You jes' wait
here, till I git things in shape and I'll cum arter ye".

Micah then departed to complete his arrangements, and Mr. Norton
returned to his post, in the sick-room.

It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon, before a messenger came
to inform him that the hour of burial had arrived.

A strange scene presented itself to his view, as he approached the
grove. A motley company, composed of the settlers of every grade and
condition for miles around, had collected there. Men, women, and
children in various costume--the scarlet and crimson shirt, or tunic,
carrying it high above a