Every boy and girl in the valley trembled at the mention of him.

Many a time I had held awake in the late evening to hear the men talk of him before they went asleep--Uncle Eb and Tip Taylor.

I remember a night when Tip said, in a low awesome tone, that he was a ghost.

The word carried into my soul the first thought of its great and fearful mystery.
'Years and years ago,' said he, 'there was a boy by the name of Nehemiah Brower.

An' he killed another boy, once, by accident an' run away an' was drownded.' 'Drownded!' said Uncle Eb.