sband was living then,"
continued Mrs. Jane Peabody, "she has become a rich woman since, and may
honor us with a visit--to show us how great a person she has got to
be--let her come--it need'nt trouble thee, nor me, I'm sure." Mrs. Jane
Peabody smoothed her Quaker vandyke, and sat stiffly in her easy chair.

Old Sylvester entering at that moment, laid aside his staff and
broad-brimmed hat, which little Sam Peabody ran in to take charge of,
and took his seat at the head of the table; the Captain, who was busy at
the back-door scouring an old rusty fowling-piece for some enterprise he
had in view in the morning, was called in by his little wife; the others
were seated in their places about the board.

"Where's William?" old Sylvester asked.

He was at a window in the front room, where he had sat for several
hours, with spectacles on his brow, poring over an old faded parchment
deed, which related to some neighboring land he thought belonged to the
Peabodys, (although in possession of others,) and which he had always
made a close study of on his visits to the homestead. There was a dark
passage, under which he made their title, which had been submitted to
various men learned in the law; it was too dark and doubtful, in their
opinion, to build a contest on, and yet William Peabody gave it every
year a new examination, with the hope, perhaps, that the wisdom of
advancing age might enable him to fathom and expound it, although it had
been drawn up by the greatest lawyer of his day in all that country. His
wife Hannah, grieving in spirit that her husband should be toiling
forever in the quest of gain, sat near him, pale, calm and disheartened,
but speaking not a word. He could not look at her with that fearful
green shade on her face, but kept his eyes always fixed on the old
parchment. When his aged father had taken his seat, and began his thanks
to God for the bounties before them, as though the old Patriarch had
brought a better spirit from the calm day without, he thrust the paper
into his bosom and glided to his place at the table. It would have done
you good to hear that old man's prayer. He neither solicited forgiveness
for his enemies nor favors for his friends; for schools, churches,
presidents or governments; neither for health, wealth, worldly welfare,
nor for any single other thing; all he said, bowing his white old head,
was this:

"May we all be Christian people the day we die--God bless us."

That was all;