ent off by myself 'n got a
good sized fish, but 'twant s' big 's hisn. So I tuk 'n opened his mouth
n poured in a lot o' fine shot. When I come back Ab he looked at my fish
'n begun t' brag. When we weighed 'em mine was a leetle heavier.

'"What!" says he. "'Tain't possible thet leetle cuss uv a trout 's
heavier 'n mine."

''Tis sarrin,' I said.

'"Dummed deceivin' business," said he as he hefted 'em both. "Gittin' so
ye can't hardly b'lieve the stillyards."'

Chapter 11

The fifth summer was passing since we came down Paradise Road--the dog,
Uncle Eb and I. Times innumerable I had heard my good old friend tell
the story of our coming west until its every incident was familiar to
me as the alphabet. Else I fear my youthful memory would have served me
poorly for a chronicle of my childhood so exact and so extended as this
I have written. Uncle Eb's hair was white now and the voices of the
swift and the panther had grown mild and tremulous and unsatisfactory
and even absurd. Time had tamed the monsters of that imaginary
wilderness and I had begun to lose my respect for them. But one fear had
remained with me as I grew older--the fear of the night man. Every boy
and girl in the valley trembled at the mention of him. Many a time I had
held awake in the late evening to hear the men talk of him before they
went asleep--Uncle Eb and Tip Taylor. I remember a night when Tip said,
in a low awesome tone, that he was a ghost. The word carried into my
soul the first thought of its great and fearful mystery.

'Years and years ago,' said he, 'there was a boy by the name of Nehemiah
Brower. An' he killed another boy, once, by accident an' run away an'
was drownded.'

'Drownded!' said Uncle Eb. 'How?'

'In the ocean,' the first answered gaping. 'Went away off 'round the
world an' they got a letter that said he was drownded on his way to Van
Dieman's Land.'

'To Van Dieman's Land!'

'Yes, an some say the night man is the ghost o' the one he killed.'

I remember waking that night and hearing excited whispers at the window
near my bed. It was very dark in the room and at first I could not tell
who was there.

'Don't you see him?' Tip whispered.

'Where?' I heard Uncle Be ask

'Under the pine trees--see him move.'

At that I was up at the window myself and could plainly see the dark
figure of a man standing under the little pine below us.

'The night man, I guess,' said Uncle Be, 'but he won't do no harm. Let
him a