eautiful pigeons that live in the
pig's roof like the horrid new pig?"

"Yes," he answered, briskly rubbing his hands, "but they eat the pig's
corn; and I can't afford that; I shall have to shoot them, I guess."

"Oh, don't, grand'ther."

"I will this very day. Where's the gun, Mercy?"

In an hour the pigeons were shot, except two which had flown away.

"Why did you ask him not to shoot the pigeons?" said Aunt Mercy. "If
you had said nothing, he would not have done, it."

"He is a disagreeable relation," I answered, "and I am glad he is a
tailor."

Aunt Mercy reproved me; but the loss of the pigeons vexed her. Perhaps
grand'ther thought so, for that night he asked after her geraniums,
and told her that a gardener had promised him some fine slips for
her. She looked pleased, but did not thank him. There was already a
beautiful stand of flowers in the middle room, which was odorous the
year round with their perfume.

The weather was now cold, and we congregated about the fire; for there
was no other comfortable room in the house. One afternoon, when I
was digging in Aunt Mercy's geranium pots, and picking off the dead
leaves, two deacons came to visit grand'ther, and, hovering over the
fire with him, complained of the lukewarmness of the church brethren
in regard to the spiritual condition of the Society. A shower of grace
was needed; there were reviving symptoms in some of the neighboring
churches, but none in Barmouth. Something must be done--a fast day
appointed, or especial prayer-meetings held. This was on Saturday;
the next day the ceremony of the Lord's Supper would take place, and
grand'ther recommended that the minister should be asked to suggest
something to the church which might remove it from its hardness.

"Are the vessels scoured, Mercy?" he asked, after the deacons had
gone.

"I have no sand."

He presently brought her a biggin of fine white sand, which brought
the shore of Surrey to my mind's eye. I followed her as she carried
it to the well-room, where I saw, on the meal-chest, two large pewter
plates, two flagons of the same metal, and a dozen or more cups, some
of silver, and marked with the owner's name. They were soon cleaned.
Then she made a fire in the oven, and mixed loaves in a peculiar
shape, and launched them into the oven. She watched the bread
carefully, and took it out before it had time to brown.

"This work belongs to the deacons' wives," she said; "but it has
been done in