rson; "sixty next month," he repeated
solemnly.

"Thirty! thirty! that's all you are, parson, or all you ought to be,"
cried the deacon. "Thirty, twenty, sixteen!--let the figures slide down
and up, according to circumstances, but never let them go higher than
thirty when you are dealing with young folks. I'm sixty myself, counting
years; but I'm only sixteen, sixteen this morning, that's all, parson,"
and he rubbed his little round plump hands together, looked at the
parson, and winked.

"Bless my soul, Deacon Tubman, I don't know but that you are right!"
answered the parson. "Sixty? I don't know as I am sixty," and he began
to rub his own hands, and came within an ace of executing a wink at the
deacon, himself.

"Not a day over twenty, if I am any judge of age," responded the deacon
deliberately, as he looked the white-headed old minister over with a
most comic imitation of seriousness. "Not a day over twenty, on my
honor," and the deacon leaned forward toward the parson, and gave him a
punch with his thumb, as one boy might deliver a punch at another, and
then he lay back in his chair and laughed so heartily that the parson
caught the infectious mirth and roared away as heartily as himself.

Yes, it was impossible to sit hobnobbing with the little, jolly deacon
on that bright New Year's morning and not be affected by the happiness
of his mood, for he was actually bubbling over with fun, and as full of
frolic as if the finger on the dial had, in truth, gone back forty-odd
years, and he was "only sixteen. Only sixteen, parson, on my honor."

"But what can I do?" queried the good man, sobering down. "I make my
pastoral visits."

"Pastoral visits!" responded Deacon Tubman. "Oh, yes, and they are all
well enough for the old folks, but they ar'n't the kind of biscuit the
young folks like--too heavy in the centre, and over-hard in the crust
for young teeth, eh, parson?"

"But what shall I do? what shall I do?" reiterated the parson, somewhat
despondently.

"Oh! put on your hat, and gloves, and warmest coat, and come along with
me. We will see what the young folks are doing, and will make a day of
it. Come! come! let the old books, and catechisms, and sermons, and
tracts have a respite for once, and we'll spend the day out-of-doors,
with the boys and girls and the people."

"I'll do it!" exclaimed the parson. "Deacon Tubman, you are right. I do
keep to my study too closely. I don't see enough of the world and what