verybody," cried the deacon, as he thrust his foot
into his stocking, for the floor of the good man's chamber was
carpetless and so cleanly white that its cleanliness itself was enough
to freeze one. "Yes, a happy New Year to everybody, high, low, rich,
poor, south, north, east and west, where'er they are, the world over, at
home and abroad--Amen!" And the deacon, partly at the sweeping character
of his benediction and partly because he was feeling so jolly inside he
couldn't help it, laughed merrily, as he seized a boot and thrust his
foot vigorously into it.

"What's this? what's this?" cried the deacon, as he tugged away at the
straps until he was red in the face. "This boot never went on hard
before. What's the matter with the pesky thing?" And he arose from his
chair, and, standing on one foot, turned and twisted about, tugging all
the while at the straps.

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the deacon, disgusted with its strange
behavior, "what is the matter with the pesky boot?"

[Illustration: "_What's the matter with the pesky thing?_"]

Then he sat down upon the chair again, wrenched his foot out of the
offending article and held it up between both hands in front of him and
shook it violently, when, with a bump and a bound, out rattled a package
upon the floor and rolled half way across the room. The deacon was after
it in a jiffy and, seizing it in his little fat hands, held it up
before his eyes and read: "A New Year's gift from Miranda."

Now Miranda was the deacon's housekeeper,--Mrs. Tubman having peacefully
departed this life some years before,--and, speaking appreciatively of
the sex, a more prim, prudent, particular member of it never existed.
She had been initiated, some ten years before, into that amiable
sisterhood commonly known as spinsters, and was, it might be added, a
typical representative. Industrious? You may well say so. Her floors,
stoves, dishes, linen,--- well, if they weren't clean, nowhere on earth
might you find clean ones. She hated dirt as she did original sin, and
I've no doubt but that in her own mind considered its existence in the
world as the one certain, damning and conclusive evidence of the Fall.
It was really an entertainment to see her looking about the house for a
speck of dirt; and the cold-blooded manner in which she would seize upon
it, bear it away in the dust pan, and, removing the lid of the stove,
consign it to the flames, was--well,--what should I say,--yes, that's
i