at quickeneth";
Brother Flite, who hadn't any money, thought the Church ought to build a
"working-man's chapel," but this idea was promptly and vigorously
combated by all men of property in the congregation. By this time the
usual closing hour had arrived, and after a benediction the faithful
dispersed, each with about the ideas he brought to the meeting.

Early next morning the good Deacon Barker, with his mind half full of
the state of the unconverted, and half of his unfinished cow-shed, took
his stick and hobbled about the village in search of a carpenter to
finish the incomplete structure. There was Moggs, but Moggs had been
busy all the season, and it would be just like him to want full price
for a day's work. Stubb was idle, but Stubb was slow. Augur--Augur used
liquor, and the Deacon had long ago firmly resolved that not a cent of
_his_ money, if he could help it, should ever go for the accursed stuff.
But there was Hay--he hadn't seen him at work for a long time--perhaps
he would be anxious enough for work to do it cheaply.

The Deacon knocked at Hay's door, and Hay himself shouted:

"Come in."

"How are ye, George," said the Deacon, looking hastily about the room,
and delightfully determining, from the patient face of sad-eyed Mrs. Hay
and the scanty furnishing of the yet uncleared breakfast-table, that he
had been providentially guided to the right spot. "How's times with ye?"

"Not very good, Deac'n," replied Hay. "Nothin' much doin' in town."

"Money's awful sceerce," groaned the Deacon.

"Dreadful," responded George, devoutly thanking the Lord that he owed
the Deacon nothing.

"Got much to do this winter?" asked the Deacon.

"Not by a d--day's job--not a single day," sorrowfully replied Hay.

The Deacon's pious ear had been shocked by the young man's imperfectly
concealed profanity, and for an instant he thought of administering a
rebuke, but the charms of prospective cheap labor lured the good man
from the path of rectitude.

"I'm fixin' my cow-shed--might p'raps give ye a job on't. 'Spose ye'd do
it cheap, seein' how dull ev'ry thin' is?"

The sad eyes of Mrs. Hay grew bright in an instant. Her husband's heart
jumped up, but he knew to whom he was talking, so he said, as calmly as
possible:

"Three dollars is reg'lar pay."

The Deacon immediately straightened up as if to go.

"Too much," said he; "I'd better hire a common lab'rer at a dollar 'n a
half, an' boss him myself. It's only a c