sense," explained the
deacon.

This, however, was above Sam's comprehension.

"What would you like to do when you're a man?" asked the deacon.

"Smoke a pipe," answered Sam, after some reflection.

The deacon held up his hands in horror.

"What a misguided youth!" he exclaimed. "Can you think of nothing
better than to smoke a pipe?"

"Dad liked it," said Sam; "but I guess he liked rum better."

"Your father was a misguided man," said the deacon. "He wasted his
substance in riotous living."

"You'd ought to have seen him when he was tight," said Sam,
confidentially. "Didn't he tear round then? He'd fling sticks of wood
at my head. O jolly! Didn't I run? I used to hide under the bed when I
couldn't run out of doors."

"Your father's dead and gone. I don't want to talk against him, but I
hope you'll grow up a very different man. Do you think you will like
to live with me?"

"I guess so," said Sam. "You live in a good house, where the rain
don't leak through the roof on your head. You'll give me lots to eat,
too; won't you?"

"You shall have enough," said the deacon, cautiously, "but it is bad
to over-eat. Boys ought to be moderate."

"I didn't over-eat to home," said Sam. "I went one day without eatin'
a crumb."

"You shall have enough to eat at my house, but you must render a
return."

"What's that?"

"You must pay me for it."

"I can't; I aint got a cent."

"You shall pay me in work. He that does not work shall not eat."

"Have I got to work very hard?" asked Sam, anxiously.

"I will not task you beyond your strength, but I shall expect you to
work faithfully. I work myself. Everybody works in my house."

Sam was occupied for a brief space in considering the great problem
that connects labor and eating. Somehow it didn't seem quite
satisfactory.

"I wish I was a pig!" he burst out, rather unexpectedly.

"Why?" demanded the deacon, amazed.

"Pigs have a better time than men and boys. They have all they can
eat, and don't have to work for it nuther."

"I'm surprised at you," said the deacon, shocked. "Pigs are only brute
animals. They have no souls. Would you be willing to give up your
immortal soul for the sake of bein' idle, and doin' no work?"

"I don't know anything bout my immortal soul. What good does it do
me?" inquired Sam.

"I declare! the boy's actilly gropin' in heathen darkness," said the
deacon, beginning to think he had undertaken a tough job.

"What's that?" asked Sam, m