happy 'n'
comfortable like. There was a new moon that sorter lit up the path, 'n'
jist as he got to where it made a turn, 'bout ten feet from the shanty,
I made a signal by squeakin' like a gull, an' the boys begun workin' the
lines, 'n' 'bout two dozen white figgers rose up from behind the rocks
or stepped out o' the cabin. I never knew which skeered Bill the worst,
the awful critter snappin' at him thar in the path, or the ghosts, for
Bill gave one screech that could a' been heard five mile, 'n' ye never
seen a man run the way he did. He didn't stop ter keep in the path
either, but jist went right over the rocks anywhere. He tumbled two or
three times 'fore he got out o' sight, 'n' you'd a-thought he was made
o' rubber, the way he got up 'n' yelled, 'Help, help, O Lord,' all the
time. I'll 'low it was the fust time he'd ever called on the Lord fer
help, but it wa'n't the last, fer he made straight fer the parson's
house 'n' begun pummellin' on the door.

"'O Lord, take me in,' he said when the parson opened it, 'I'm come fer
at last 'n' the divil's arter me. Pray fer me, parson, an' for God's
sake, do it quick!' An' then he went down on his knees, 'n' sayin',
'Lordy, Lordy, I'll never drink 'nother drop's long's I live!' Parson
Bush was a good deal took back, fer he didn't know the joke, 'n' 'lowed
Bill had the tremens. 'Better go back to yer shanty, ye sot,' he said,
'an' when you git sober come here 'n' I'll talk with ye,' an' with that
he shet the door 'n' Bill jist laid down 'n' bellowed like a calf. 'N'
he didn't go back to his shanty, either, that night, not by a jugful;
he'd seen 'nough o' that spot ter last him quite a spell. 'N' when he
did thar warn't nuthin' out o' ordinary, fer we'd chucked the hogfish
off the rocks, 'n' 'twas more 'n a year 'fore Bill found out the trick
we played, 'n' in all that time he kept sober. He did find out arter a
spell, fer a joke like that can't be kept allus, 'n' when Bill did, he
took ter drink agin, 'n' finally jumped off the dock one night in a fit
o' the jims 'n' that was the last o' him. It's hard to larn an old dog
new tricks."

For an hour the little crowd of Jess Hutton's friends lingered,
wondering and speculating on what the outcome of this investment in a
granite ledge would be. To most it seemed a piece of folly or the act of
a madman. These worthless rocks had stared them in the face so many
years, had so interfered with house building, or the convenient placing