“Wal, really, it ain't what I like to talk about,” said the deacon, in a quavering, uncertain voice; “but I don't know but I may as well, though.
“It was that winter I was up to Umbagog. I was clerk, and kep' the 'counts and books, and all that; and Tom Huly,—he was surveyor and marker,—he was there with me, and we chummed together. And there was Jack Cutter; he was jest out o' college: he was there practising surveyin' with him. We three had a kind o' pine-board sort o' shanty, built out on a plain near by the camp: it had a fire-place, and two windows, and our bunks, and each of us had our tables and books and things.
“Well, Huly, he started with a party of three or four to go up through the woods to look out a new tract. It was two or three days' journey through the woods; and jest about that time the Indians up there was getting sort o' uneasy, and we all thought mabbe 'twas sort o' risky: howsomdever, Tom had gone off in high spirits, and told us to be sure and take care of his books and papers. Tom had a lot of books, and thought every thing of 'em, and was sort o' particular and nice about his papers. His table sot up one side, by the winder, where he could see to read and write. Well, he'd been gone four days, when one night—it was a bright 'moonlight night—Jack and I were sitting by the fire, reading, and between nine and ten o'clock there came a strong, regular knock on the window over by Tom's table. We were sitting with our backs to the window. 'Halloo!' says Jack, 'who's that?' We both jumped up, and went to the window and looked out, and see there warn't nobody there.
“'This is curus,' said I.
“'Some of the boys trying to trick us,' says he. 'Let's keep watch: perhaps they 'll do it again,' says he.
“We sot down by the fire, and 'fore long it came again.
“Then Jack and I both cut out the door, and run round the house,—he one way, and I the other. It was light as day, and nothin' for anybody to hide behind, and there warn't a critter in sight. Well, we come in and sot down, and looked at each other kind o' puzzled, when it come agin, harder'n ever; and Jack looked to the window, and got as white as a sheet.
“'For the Lord's sake, do look!' says he. And you may believe me or not; but I tell you it's a solemn fact: Tom's books was movin',—jest as if somebody was pickin' 'em up, and putting 'em down again, jest as I've seen him do a hundred times.
“'Jack,' says I, 'something's happened to Tom.'
“Wal, there had. That very night Tom was murdered by the Indians. We put down the date, and a week arter the news came.”