n its last step with
its fellow. It was carried away into the barn for dissection; we heard
with awe that Amos felt a faint sensation of pain when the knives and
probes were searching for the hidden disease, as if the severed limb
still remembered its possessor.

Subsequently the remains of the leg were buried in Amos' garden, which
gave rise to some questionings in this pious and scrupulous community as
to whether it ought not to have been placed in the graveyard. But Amos
said that he did not own a lot yet, and when he died, he should not need
his old leg to welcome him to his grave.

The operation proved successful. In a short time Amos was up with the
empty pantaloon fastened back and the stump of the leg encased in a
thick leather protector. As he had used crutches for some time before
the amputation he soon learned to accommodate himself to their new use.
He could not now walk long distances, so the weekly prayer meetings were
generally appointed at his house. He became what was called among
Methodists a class-leader; he took the leading part in all the private
religious gatherings and never failed in his opening prayer to thank the
Lord for bringing him safely through his peril. "It was Thy hand that
held the knife", he would exclaim, "yea, it was"; and all the brethren
said, amen.

There was, in the little community of which Amos Partridge was the
central and pathetic figure, a sincere belief in the nearness and
activity of Heaven in its every day affairs. It rendered them serious,
careful and slightly superstitious. It was also true, however, that
these tendencies sometimes seemed to create antagonism and a rebellious
spirit in the young men. We children, from the same causes, were timid,
afraid of the dark, afraid of everything; or, it may be, these very,
nameless terrors of the night, of wild beasts and the forests, together
with reactions from fancied escapes were the best stimulants and rustic
guardians of the imagination--the primitive Muses of the Bellingham boy.

COUNTRY FUNERALS

If a surgical operation brought with it a country lad's holiday, a
funeral may also be reckoned among the events which varied his life, if
not with gaiety, at least with pleasing diversion. As a very young child
I was present at two funerals which for special reasons have impressed
themselves upon my memory. I had heard much of a widowed sister of my
father, supposed to be rich; this proved to be a fable. Her husba