"Well, that's the time it come up, an' it's never been tired enough to lay down sence."
"What became of Gabriel?"
"I skeered 'im, and he went off into the woods pertendin' he was tryin' to catch a bullet. That's the kind o' ball I allers use when I have a little game with a rovin' angel that comes kadoodlin' round me."
"Did you ever see him afterward?" inquired Yates.
"Yes, I seen him. He laid down one night under a tree, an' he wasn't called to breakfast, an' he never woke up. So I made up my mind he'd gone to play angel somewheres else, an' I dug a hole an' put 'im into it, an' he hain't never riz, if so be he wasn't Number 'leven, an' his name was Williams."
Yates did not laugh, but manifested the most eager interest.
"Jim," said he, "can you show me his bones, and swear to your belief that he was an escaped pauper?"
"Easy."
"Was there a man lost from the poor-house about that time?"
"Yes, an' there was a row about it, an' arterward old Buffum was took with knowin' less than he ever knowed afore. He always did make a fuss about breathin', so he give it up."