r, and another, till she pulled them all out. The cabin floor was
chockful of them; for the heat and confined bilge air had hatched all
the eggs that were in the close and hot drawers.

Oh, the captain, and passengers, and sailors, they roared with
laughter! Mother was awful mad, for nothing makes one so angry as
accidents that set folks off a tee-hee-ing that way. If anybody had
been to blame but herself, wouldn't they have caught it, that's all?
for scolding is a great relief to a woman; but as there warn't, there
was nothing left but to cry: and scolding and crying are two
safety-valves that have saved many a heart from busting.

Well, the loss was not great, though she liked to take care of her
coppers, too; it was the vexation that worried her. But the worst was
to come yet. When she returned home, the boys to Digby got hold of the
story; and, wherever she went, they called out after her "Chick, chick,
chick!" I skinned about half-a-dozen of the little imps of mischief for
it, but it only made them worse; for they hid in porches, and behind
doors, and gates, and fences, as seen her a-coming, and roared out,
"Chick, chick, chick!" and nearly bothered her to death. So she give up
going out any more, and never leaves home now. It's my opinion, her
rheumatism is nothing but the effect of want of exercise, and all comes
from that cursed "Chick, chick, chick!"

THE DEACON'S BARGAIN

Old Deacon Bruce of Aylesford, last Monday week, bought a sleigh of his
fellow-deacon, Squire Burns, for five pounds. On his way home with it,
who should he meet but Zeek Morse, a-trudging along through the snow
a-foot.

"Friend Zeek," says the old Christian, "won't you get in and ride?
Here's room for you and welcome."

"Don't care if I do," said Zeek, "seeing that sitting is as cheap as
walking, if you don't pay for it." So he hops in, and away they go.

Well, Zeek was mightily taken with the sleigh.

"Deacon," says he, "how shall you and me trade for it? It's just the
article I want, for I am a-going down to Bridgetown next week to be
married; and it will suit me to a notch to fetch Mrs. Morse, my wife,
home in. What will you take for it?"

"Nine pounds," said old Conscience. "It cost me seven pounds ten
shillings, to Deacon Burns, who built it; and as it's the right season
for using it, and I can't get another made till next winter, I must
have nine pounds for it, and it ain't dear at that price neither."

"Done!" says