“Is it not customary to preach the funeral sermons on Sunday?”

“Most generally, Boss, it are; but you see Bre’r Green, what was to preach the ole ‘oman’s sarmont, had a big baptizin’ for two Sundays han’ runnin’, and he was gwine to Boston for a spell, on the next comin’ Saddy, so bein’ as our time belonks to us now, we was free to ’pint a week day.”

“You are positive it was the twenty-sixth?”

“Oh, yes’ir; plum postiv.  The day was norated from all the baptiss churches, so as the kinfolks could gether from fur and nigh.”

“At what hour on Thursday was the funeral sermon preached?”

“Four o’clock sharp.”

“Where did you stay while in town?”

“With my son Ducaleyon who keeps a barber-shop on Main Street.”

“When did you return home?”

“I started before day, Friday mornin’, as soon as the rain hilt up.”

“At what hour, do you think?”

“The town clock was a strikin’ two, jes as I passed the express office, at the station.”

“Now, Isam, tell the Court whom you saw, and what happened; and be very careful in all you say, remembering you are on your oath.”

“I was atoting a bundle so—­slung on to a stick, and it gaided my shoulder, ’cause amongst a whole passel of plunder I had bought, ther was a bag of shot inside, what had slewed ’round oft the balance, and I sot down, close to a lamp-post nigh the station, to shift the heft of the shot bag.  Whilst I were a squatting, tying up my bundle, I heered all of a suddent—­somebody runnin’, brip—­brap—! and up kern a man from round the corner of the stationhouse, a runnin’ full tilt; and he would a run over me, but I grabbed my bundle and riz up.  Sez I:  ‘Hello! what’s to pay?’ He was most out of breath, but sez he:  ‘Is the train in yet?’ Sez I:  ’There ain’t no train till daylight, ‘cepting it be the through freight.’  Then he axed me:  ‘When is that due?’ and I tole him:  ’Pretty soon, I reckon, but it don’t stop here; it only slows up at the water tank, whar it blows for the Bridge.’  Sez he:  ‘How fur is that bridge?’ Sez I:  ‘Only a short piece down the track, after you pass the tank.’  He tuck a long breath, and kinder whistled, and with that he turned and heeled it down the middle of the track.  I thought it mighty curus, and my mind misgive me thar was somethin’ crooked; but I always pintedly dodges; ‘lie-lows to ketch meddlers,’ and I went on my way.  When I got nigh the next corner whar I had to turn to cross the river, I looked back and I seen a ‘oman standin’ on the track, in front of the station-house; but I parsed on, and soon kem to the bridge (not the railroad bridge), Boss.  I had got on the top of the hill to the left of the Pentenchry, when I hearn ole ‘Bory’ blow.  You see I knowed the runnin’ of the kyars, ’cause that through freight was my ole stormpin-ground, and I love the sound of that ingine’s whistle more ’an I do my gran’childun’s hymn chunes.  She blowed long and vicious like, and I seen her sparks fly, as she lit out through town; and then I footed it home.”