ndulging in a scrap
of proverbial philosophy.

"What does that mean?" thought Sam, carelessly hitting the deacon's
foot with his descending hoe. Unfortunately, the deacon had corns on
that foot, and the blow cost him a sharp twinge.

"You careless blockhead!" he shrieked, raising the injured foot from
the ground, while a spasm of anguish contracted his features. "Did you
take my foot for a potato-hill?"

"Did I hurt you?" asked Sam, innocently.

"You hurt me like thunder," gasped the deacon, using, in his
excitement, words which in calmer moments he would have avoided.

"I didn't think it was your foot," said Sam.

"I hope you'll be more careful next time; you most killed me."

"I will," said Sam.

"I wonder if it isn't time for dinner," he began to think presently,
but, under the circumstances, thought it best not to refer to the
matter. But at last the welcome sound of the dinner-bell was heard, as
it was vigorously rung at the back door by Mrs. Hopkins.

"That's for dinner, Samuel," said the deacon. "We will go to the
house."

"All right!" said Sam, with alacrity, throwing down the hoe in the
furrow.

"Pick up that hoe, and carry it with you," said the deacon.

"Then we won't work here any more to-day!" said Sam, brightening up.

"Yes, we will; but it's no way to leave the hoe in the fields. Some
cat might come along and steal it," he added, with unwonted sarcasm.

Sam laughed as he thought of the idea of a cat stealing a hoe, and the
deacon smiled at his own joke.

Dinner was on the table. It was the fashion there to put all on at
once, and Sam, to his great satisfaction, saw on one side a pie like
that which had tempted him the night before. The deacon saw his look,
and it suggested a fitting punishment. But the time was not yet.

Sam did ample justice to the first course of meat and potatoes. When
that was despatched, Mrs. Hopkins began to cut the pie.

The deacon cleared his throat.

"Samuel is to have no pie, Martha," he said.

His wife thought it was for his misdeeds of the night before, and so
did Sam.

"I couldn't help walkin' in my sleep," he said, with a blank look of
disappointment.

"It aint that," said the deacon.

"What is it, then?" asked his wife.

"Samuel ran away from his work this mornin', and was gone nigh on to
two hours," said her husband.

"You are quite right, Deacon Hopkins," said his wife, emphatically.
"He don't deserve any dinner at all."

"Can't I have so