er the Deacon's bedtime.

CHAPTER XIII

_The Sleepers_

It was twenty minutes of ten before a sleepy and decidedly irritable
voice responded in answer to Donaldson's cheery hello. There was
little of Christian spirit to be detected in it.

"Is this Deacon Staples?"

"Yes. But I 'd like t' know what ye mean by gettin' a man outern bed
at this time of night?"

"Why, you were n't in bed, Deacon!"

"In bed? See here, is this some confounded joke?"

"What kind of a joke, Deacon?"

"A--joke. Who are you, anyway?"

"I don't believe you remember me; I 'm Peter Donaldson."

"Don't recoleck your name. What d' ye want this time o' night?"

"Why, it's early yet, Deacon. You weren't really in bed!"

"I tell ye I was, an' that so is all decent folk. Once 'n fer
all--what d'ye want?"

"I heard you had a house to sell."

"Wall, I ain't sellin' houses on th' Lord's day."

"Won't be Sunday for two hours and twenty minutes yet, Deacon. If you
talk lively, you can do a day's work before then. What will you take
for the old Burnham place?"

The deacon hesitated. He was a bit confused by this unusual way of
doing business. It was too hurried an affair, and besides it did not
give him an opportunity to size up his man. Nor did he know how
familiar this possible purchaser was with the property.

"Where be you?" he demanded.

"In New York."

"In--see here, I rec'gnize your voice; you 're Billy Harkins down to
the corner. Ye need n't think ye can play your jokes on me."

"We 've only two hours and a quarter left," warned Donaldson.

"Well, ye need n't think I 'm goin' to stand here in the cold fer thet
long."

"It's warm 'nuff here," Donaldson answered genially.

"Maybe ye 've gut more on than I have."

"Hush, Deacon, there are ladies present."

"They ain't neither, down here. Our women are in bed, where they
oughter be."

"Not at this hour! Why, the evening is young yet. But how much will
you take?"

"Wal, th' place is wuth 'bout two thousand dollars."

Donaldson realized that it was the magic word "New York" which had so
suddenly inflated the price. The deacon was taking a chance that this
might be some wealthy New Yorker looking for a country home.

"Do you call that a fair price?" he asked.

"The house is in good condition, and thar 's over three acres of good
grass land and ten acres of pasture with pooty trees in it."

"Just so. I 'm not able to look the place over, so I 'l