t the only visitors the wee, weird Widow
Wiggins had. As the deacon never said any harm of anybody, and as the
deacon's wife never thought any harm, and as the wee widow woman never
felt any harm, the cat would lie stretched out on the hearth all day
while these three good people talked.

But though the deacon was good, and his wife was better, yet the deacon's
oldest son was not the boy he ought to have been. Somehow or other, as it
will happen sometimes, he listened to everybody but his father and his
mother. Bad company led him astray. At first the deacon did not suspect
him; but when he showed signs of having been drinking, the deacon was
very severe. I am afraid there was not enough of kindness in the father's
severity. At any rate, after awhile, Tom was told that if he repeated the
offence he must go from home. Tom had got to be a hard boy. The deacon
felt greatly provoked. But when a boy shows that he is not able to
overcome temptation while he is at home, I am not sure that he will be
any better if he is sent by himself. I don't think that helps it. But Tom
was bad, and so he had no right to complain. He yielded to temptation,
and was sent away, his father telling him that he should never come back
again. Deacon Pettibone thought he was doing right, but I am afraid he
was angry.

Well, when Tom got away he did not get any better. He went down faster.
At last his health broke down. He thought of home as he walked around
hardly able to stand up. But the deacon would not ask him back, nor would
he encourage him even by a kind look to ask to be taken back again. The
deacon's wife tried to persuade him. She cried. But the deacon said he
must not break his word. His wife told him that a rash word ought to be
broken where it did others harm. The deacon's wife grew sick, and the
vile, vinegar-tongued, vixenish virago said that the deacon was an old
brute. The tattling, tiresome-tongued, town tale-bearer talked about a
good many things that she _might_ say, if she wanted to, and she did say
that the deacon and his wife did not get on like angels. But the wee,
wiry, weird Widow Wiggins watched wearily by the bedside of the sick Mrs.
Pettibone. And still Deacon Pettibone refused to break his word, though
he was breaking his wife's heart, and breaking God's command, and ruining
his son.

At last the sick mother, longing for her son, thought of a plan by which
to bring her husband to reason.

"Fetch your cat over the nex