"You would have wished for that when the light came; to die is sometimes to escape the pit."
"I would have fallen into hell, then?"
"Aye, Betts," replied my uncle, "straightway into hell!"
The old man rested his hands on the posts of the chair.
"The creatures behind the world are baleful creatures," he muttered in his big whisper.
Randolph got up at that.
"Damme!" he said. "Are we in the time of Roger Williams, and is this Massachusetts, that witches ride and men are filched of their gold by magic and threatened with hell fire? What is this cursed foolery, Abner?"
"It is no foolery, Randolph," replied my uncle, "but the living truth."
"The truth!" cried Randolph. "Do you call it the truth that creatures, not human, able to enter through the keyhole and fly away, have Betts' gold, and if he had fought against this robbery with his ax he would have put himself in torment? Damme, man! In the name of common sense, do you call this the truth?"
"Randolph," replied Abner, and his voice was slow and deep, "it is every word the truth."
Randolph moved back the chair before him and sat down. He looked at my uncle curiously.
"Abner," he said, "you used to be a crag of common sense. The legends and theories of fools
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