I remember, that when the great solar eclipse of 1806 was approaching, he with two other men were at work in one of our fields, not far from the house. The eclipse was to begin at ten or eleven o'clock, and my father invited the workmen to come up and observe it through some pieces of smoked glass. They came, though Mat ridiculed the idea of an eclipse—not but the thing might happen; but it was idle to suppose it could be foretold. While they were waiting and watching, my father explained the cause and nature of the phenomenon.
Mat laughed with that low, scoffing chuckle, with which a woodcock, safe in his den, replies to the bark of a besieging dog.
"So you don't believe this?" said my father.
"No," said Mat, shaking his head; "I don't believe a word of it. You say, Parson Goodrich, that the sun is fixed, and don't move?"
"Yes, I say so."
"Well: didn't you preach last Sunday out of the 10th chapter of Joshua?"
"Yes."
"And didn't you tell us that Joshua commanded the sun and moon to stand still?"
"Yes."
"Well: what was the use of telling the sun to stand still if it never moved?"