e interrupted his reflections in more amiable
humor,--

"It isn't Almiry, Samuel, I think of, but Mr. Johns and the good of the
parish. I really don't know if Almiry would fancy the parson; the girl
is a good deal taken up with her pianny and books; but there's the
Hapgoods, opposite; there's Joanny Meacham"----

"You'll never make that do, Huldy," said the Deacon, stirring his flip
composedly; "they're nigh on as old as parson."

"Never you mind, Tourtelot," said the dame, sharply; "only you hint to
the parson that they're good, pious women, all of them, and would make
proper ministers' wives. Do you think I don't know what a man is,
Tourtelot? Humph!" And she threads her needle again.

The Deacon was apt to keep in mind his wife's advices, whatever he might
do with Scripture quotations. So when he called at the parsonage, a few
days after,--ostensibly to learn how the minister would like his pork
cut,--it happened that little Reuben came bounding in, and that the
Deacon gave him a fatherly pat upon the shoulder.

"Likely boy you've got here, Mr. Johns,--likely boy. But, Parson, don't
you think he must feel a kind o' hankerin' arter somebody to be motherly
to him? I 'most wonder that you don't feel that way yourself, Mr.
Johns."

"God comforts the mourners," said the clergyman, seriously.

"No doubt, no doubt, Parson; but He sometimes provides comforts ag'in
which we shet our eyes. You won't think hard o' me, Parson, but I've
heerd say about the village that Miss Meacham or one of the Miss
Hapgoods would make an excellent wife for the minister."

The parson is suddenly very grave.

"Don't repeat such idle gossip, Deacon. I'm married to my work. The
Gospel is my bride now."

"And a very good one it is, Parson. But don't you think that a godly
woman for helpmeet would make the work more effectooal? Miss Meacham is
a pattern of a person in the Sunday school. The women of the parish
would rather like to find the doors of the parsonage openin' for 'em
ag'in."

"That is to be thought of certainly," said the minister, musingly.

"You won't think hard o' me, Mr. Johns, for droppin' a word about this
matter?" says the Deacon, rising to leave. "And while I think on 't,
Parson, I see the sill under the no'theast corner o' the meetin'-house
has a little settle to it. I've jest been cuttin' a few sticks o' good
smart chestnut timber; and if the Committee thinks best, I could haul
down one or two on 'em for repairs. I