spend the rest the day splittin'
kindlin'-wood to keep a parlor stove a-goin'. He'll be glad o' the job,
an' he'll be glad o' the wages, an' he'll break his neck tryin' to do
more an' better'n Moses ever did. You couldn't do better. It's a ill
wind that blows nobody good, an' Moseses misfortune is the deacon's
blessin'."

There was something else which made the good deacon accept Miss
Maitland's offer with so much alacrity. According to his own wife:

"The deacon he feels terr'ble sot-up bein' selected to become one the
family, so to speak, right now on the top of that treasure findin'. I
ain't seen him walk so straight or step 'round so lively, not sence we
moved in. An' whatever the truth is in this queer business, he'll fathom
it, trust him! or bust."

This, to a next-door neighbor, as the gentleman in question set off down
the street to enter upon his new duties.

So it was the deacon whom Katharine had heard busy about the barn and
the glimmer of whose lantern had disappeared in the distance. With a
precaution his predecessor in office had never practised, he had secured
every shutter and window and locked every door before he crossed the
driveway between barn and house and entered the kitchen, where Susanna
was toasting bread for supper. As he blew out the candle in the lantern
and deposited that ancient luminary on the lean-to shelf, he rubbed his
hands complacently, and observed:

"Well, Widow Sprigg, I cal'late I've done things up brown. Winds may
blow an' waves may roar, as the poet says, but nobody nor nothing can't
break into Eunice's buildin's whilst I have the care on 'em. How's he
doin'?"

As Moses was the only "he" on the premises the question naturally
referred to him.

"Oh, he's all right enough. I mean, right as he can be, stove to pieces
like he is. One good sign about him--He's crosser'n fury. All said an'
done that me or Eunice could to please him, and he won't be pleased.
Wants them childern, an' the mis'able things have skedaddled somewheres
an' can't be found."

The deacon recognized an opportunity. He drew his chair up to the
fireplace, where, above a bed of glowing coals, Susanna was making her
toast, and said:

"There, neighbor, you look clear tuckered out, an' no wonder with what
all you've gone through to-day. Hand me the fork. I'll help you. I
hain't been ma's husband forty year without learnin' how to toast a
slice of bread. An', my sake! Ain't it all just wonderful! An' what