f the
year and was filling it, and the hearts within it, too, with mirthful
moods. For the deacon laughed and joked as he buttered his cakes and
fired off his funny sayings at Miranda, as he had never joked and
laughed before, until Miranda herself smiled and giggled; yes, actually
giggled, behind the coffee-urn, at his merry squibs, as if the little
imp above mentioned was mischievously tickling her--yes, I will say
it,--her spinster ribs.

"Mirandy, I'm going up to see the parson," exclaimed the deacon, when
the morning devotions were over, "and see if I can thaw him out a
little. I've heard there used to be a lot of fun in him in his younger
days, but he's sort of frozen all up latterly, and I can see that the
young folks are afraid of him and the church, too, but that won't
do--no, that won't do," repeated the good man emphatically, "for the
minister ought to be loved by young and old, rich and poor, and
everybody; and a church without young folks in it is like a family with
no children in it. Yes, I'll go up and wish him a happy New Year,
anyway. Perhaps I can get him out for a ride to make some calls on the
people and see the young folks at their fun. It'll do him good and them
good and me good, and do everybody good." Saying which the deacon got
inside his warm fur coat and started towards the barn to harness Jack
into the worn, old-fashioned sleigh; which sleigh was built high in the
back and had a curved dasher of monstrous proportions, ornamented with a
prancing horse in an impossible attitude, done in bright vermilion on a
blue-black ground.

II

"Happy New Year to you, Parson Whitney; happy New Year to you," cried
the deacon, from his sleigh to the parson, who stood curled up and
shivering in the doorway of the parsonage, "and may you live to enjoy a
hundred."

"Come in; come in," cried Parson Whitney, in response, "I'm glad you've
come; I'm glad you've come. I've been wanting to see you all the
morning," and in the cordiality of his greeting, he literally pulled the
little man through the doorway into the hall and hurried him up the
stairway to his study in the chamber overhead.

"Thinking of me! Well, now, I never," exclaimed the deacon, as, assisted
by the parson, he twisted and wriggled himself out of the coat that he a
little too snugly filled for an easy exit. "Thinking of me, and among
all these books, too; bibles, catechisms, tracts, theologies, sermons;
well, well, that's funny! What made y