and scratching lobsters, as they lay before him upon the planks at his
feet.

"Do with 'em?" responded the lobster merchant,--"why, bile 'em and eat
'em! I bet you a dollar you never ate better lobsters 'n them, nohow,
mister!"

The deacon looked anxiously and innocently at the speaker, as much as to
say--"you don't say so?"

"I mean, friend, how shall I get them home?"

"O," says the lobster merchant, "that's easy enough; here, Saul," says
he, calling up a frizzle-headed lad in blue pants--_sans_ hat or boots,
and but one _gallows_ to his breeches, "here, you, light upon these
lobsters and carry 'em home for this old gentleman."

"Goodness, bless you," says the deacon; "why friend, I reside ten miles
out in the country!"

"O, the blazes you do!" says the lobster merchant; "well, I tell you,
Saul can carry 'em to the cars for you in this 'ere bag, if you're goin'
out?"

"Truly, he can," quoth the deacon; "and Saul can go right along with
me."

The lobsters were dashed into a piece of Manilla sack, thrown across the
shoulders of the juvenile Saul, and away they went at the heels of the
deacon, to the depot; here Saul dashed down the "poor creturs" until
their bones or shells rattled most piteously, and as the deacon handed a
"three cent piece" to Saul, the long and wicked claw of one of the
lobsters protruded out of the bag--opened and shut with a _clack_, that
made the deacon shudder!

"Those fellows are plaguy awkward to handle, are they not, my son?" says
the deacon.

"Not _werry_," says the boy; "they can't bite, cos you see they's got
pegs down here--_hallo!_" As Saul poked his hand down towards the big
claw lying partly out of the open-mouthed bag, the claw opened, and
_clacked_ at his fingers, ferocious as a mad dog.

"His peg's out," said the boy--"and I can't fasten it; but here's a
chunk of twine; tie the bag and they can't get out, any how, and you
kin put 'em into yer pot right out of the bag."

"Yes, yes," says the deacon; "I guess I will take care of them; bring
them here; there, just place the bag right in under my seat; so, that
will do."

Presently the cars began to fill up, as the minute of departure
approached, and soon every seat around the worthy deacon was occupied.
By-and-by, "a middle-aged lady," in front of the deacon, began to
_fussle_ about and twist around, as if anxious to arrange the great
amplitude of her _drapery_, and look after something "bothering" her
feet. In front