sekeeping he asked, trying
not to show his eagerness, and not recognizing himself at all in the
enterprise in which he found himself indulging.

"I 'm very comfortable here," the lady responded artfully, "and I don't
know 's I care to make any change, thank you. I didn't like the village
much at first, after living in larger places, but now I'm acquainted, it
kind of gains on me."

Her reply was carefully framed, for her mind worked with great rapidity,
and she was mistress of the situation almost as soon as she saw the
Deacon alighting from his sleigh. He was not the sort of man to be
a casual caller, and his manner bespoke an urgent errand. She had a
pension of six dollars a month, but over and above that sum her living
was precarious. She made coats, and she had never known want, for she
was a master hand at dealing with the opposite sex. Deacon Baxter,
according to common report, had ten or fifteen thousand dollars stowed
away in the banks, so the situation would be as simple as possible under
ordinary circumstances; it was as easy to turn out one man's pockets as
all-other's when he was a normal human being; but Deacon Baxter was a
different proposition.

"I wonder how long he's likely to live," she thought, glancing at him
covertly, out of the tail of her eye. "His evil temper must have driven
more than one nail in his coffin. I wonder, if I refuse to housekeep,
whether I 'll get--a better offer. I wonder if I could manage him if
I got him! I'd rather like to sit in the Baxter pew at the Orthodox
meeting-house after the way some of the Baptist sisters have snubbed me
since I come here."

Not a vestige of these incendiary thoughts showed in her comely
countenance, and her soul might have been as white as the high-bibbed
apron that covered it, to judge by her genial smile.

"I'd make the wages fair," urged the Deacon, looking round the clean
kitchen, with the break-fast-table sitting near the sunny window and the
odor of corned beef and cabbage issuing temptingly from a boiling pot on
the fire. "I hope she ain't a great meat-eater," he thought, "but it's
too soon to cross that bridge yet a while."

"I've no doubt of it," said the widow, wondering if her voice rang true;
"but I've got a pension, and why should I leave this cosy little home?
Would I better myself any, that's the question? I'm kind of lonesome
here, that's the only reason I'd consider a move."

"No need o' bein' lonesome down to the Falls," sai