cupied
a snug little house, with ever so many flowers in the door yard, and
ever so many tufts of moss on its old shingles. He did not spend more
than half his time at home. The rest was devoted to peddling. No
wandering Arab ever moved oftener from place to place than Deacon
Bissell. Still he had his orbit, and he traveled in it as regularly as
the moon, and Jupiter, and our own planet, travel in their orbits.
Every family he visited knew almost the exact day of his arrival. The
deacon had a great deal of method in everything he did. He was one of
the most punctual and precise men you ever met. An anecdote at this
moment occurs to me, which goes to show what a value he placed upon
punctuality.

Patty Bissell, his eldest daughter, was to ride over to Boston with
the old gentleman. She had been wanting to go to the city for a long
time, and she was delighted when her father invited her to go.

"Patty, how long will it take you to get ready?" asked the deacon.

"Half an hour," the girl replied.

"Well, say an hour," said the deacon. "But don't fail to be ready at
the moment. I want you to learn to be punctual, my dear."

"Oh, I shall be ready in an hour, father, and in less time, too."

"Very well."

The hour passed. The deacon was in his wagon, ready to start. "Well,
Patty," he shouted, so that his daughter could hear him in the room
where she was busy putting herself in a trim for the city. She was not
quite ready. I think she had forgotten where her gloves were, and was
ransacking every drawer in her bureau for them. The deacon spoke
again.

"In one minute," said Patty.

The deacon waited one minute more, a very long minute, according to
his watch--and off he started for Boston.

Poor Patty! The disappointment was a sore one for her. But it taught
her a lesson in punctuality which was worth more to her than a
quarter's schooling at the Roundhill Academy.

Mr. Bissell, you will please to take notice, was a _real_ deacon. In
the country, it is a very common thing, I presume you are aware, for
almost all the folks to have some handle or another fixed to their
names; and very often the handle is put on, nobody knows how, or why,
or when, or where. One man is known as a military officer, a
_captain_, perhaps, or a _general_. But when you come to inquire into
his history, you find that he never rose to a higher rank than that of
a corporal in the militia, and possibly not quite so high as that.
Another man is