"I don't know," says I. "But I will, provided you don't say 'terrible' again. Now clear out and don't let me see you till camp-meetin's over. And say," I called after him, "just ask one of your spirit chums what's good for nerve twitters."
Next mornin' was sort of dark and cloudy, so probably that accounts for my oversleepin'. Anyhow 'twas after seven o'clock when Cousin Lemuel, blanket and shawl and slippers, full undress uniform, comes flappin' into my room. I woke up and stared at him. He was pale, and tremblin' all over.
"What's the matter now?" says I.
"Hush!" he whispers, fearful. "Hush! somethin' awful has happened. My cousin Lot is insane."
"What?" I sung out, settin' up in bed.
"Hush! hush!" says he. "It is horrible. Insanity is hereditary in our family. What shall we do?"
"Insane—rubbish!" says I, havin' waked up a little more by this time. "What makes you think he's insane?"
He held up a shakin' hand. "Listen!" he whispers. "He has been makin' dreadful noises for the past half-hour, and singin'—actually singin'—in the strangest voice. Listen!"
I listened. Down below in the kitchen there was a racket of pans and dishes and a stompin' as if a menagerie elephant had broke loose from its moorin's. Then somebody busts out singin', loud and high:
"There's a land that is fairer than day,
And by faith we can see it afar."