ht but had overheard the old
man's weak, reedy voice and Peter's deep, hoarse one, in altercation. When
at last--it was on a Sunday night--all was still and quiet in the house;
not a word, not a footstep, could be heard, no more than if it were
uninhabited, the neighbors looked knowingly at each other, and wondered if
the old man were worse--if he were dead!

It was a little after midnight that a knock came to the door of our cabin.
I heard it first, for I used to sleep in a little snug basket near the
fire; but I didn't speak, for I was frightened.

It was repeated still louder, and then came a cry--"Con Cregan; Con, I
say, open the door! I want you."

I knew the voice well; it was Peter McCabe's; but I pretended to be fast
asleep, and snored loudly. At last my father unbolted the door, and I
heard him say, "Oh, Mr. Peter, what's the matter? Is the ould man worse?"

"Faix that's what he is! for he's dead!"

"Glory be his bed! When did it happen?"

"About an hour ago," said Peter, in a voice that even I from my corner
could perceive was greatly agitated. "He died like an ould haythen, Con,
and never made a will!"

"That's bad," says my father, for he was always a polite man, and said
whatever was pleasing to the company.

"It is bad," said Peter; "but it would be worse if we couldn't help it.
Listen to me now, Corny, I want ye to help me in this business; and here's
five guineas in goold, if ye do what I bid ye. You know that ye were
always reckoned the image of my father, and before he took ill ye were
mistaken for each other every day of the week."

"Anan!" said my father; for he was getting frightened at the notion,
without well knowing why.

"Well, what I want is, for ye to come over to the house, and get into the
bed."

"Not beside the corpse?" said my father, trembling.

"By no means, but by yourself; and you're to pretend to be my father, and
that ye want to make yer will before ye die; and then I'll send for the
neighbors, and Billy Scanlan, the schoolmaster, and ye'll tell him what to
write, laving all the farm and everything to me--ye understand. And as the
neighbors will see ye, and hear yer voice, it will never be believed but
that it was himself that did it."

"The room must be very dark," said my father.

"To be sure it will, but have no fear! Nobody will dare to come nigh the
bed; and ye'll only have to make a cross with yer pen under the name."

"And the priest?" said my father.

"My