om an intruder
of my sex and appearance.

"Deacon Spear," said I, as soon as we were seated in his stiff
old-fashioned parlor, "you are astonished to see us here, no doubt,
especially after the display of animosity shown towards you yesterday by
this graceless young friend of mine. But it is on account of this
unfortunate occurrence that we are here. After a little reflection and a
few hints, I may add, from one who has seen more of life than himself,
William felt that he had cause to be ashamed of himself for his show of
sport in yesterday's proceedings, and accordingly he has come in my
company to tender his apologies and entreat your forbearance. Am I not
right, William?"

The fellow is a clown under all and every circumstance, and serious as
our real purpose was, and dreadful as was the suspicion he professed to
cherish against the suave and seemingly respectable member of the
community we were addressing, he could not help laughing, as he
blunderingly replied:

"That you are, Miss Butterworth! She's always right, Deacon. I did act
like a fool yesterday." And seeming to think that, with this one
sentence he had played his part out to perfection, he jumped up and
strolled out of the house, almost pushing down as he did so the two
daughters of the house, who had crept into the hall from the
sitting-room to listen.

"Well, well!" exclaimed the Deacon, "you have done wonders, Miss
Butterworth, to bring him to even so small an acknowledgment as that!
He's a vicious one, is William Knollys, and if _I_ were not such a lover
of peace and concord, he should not long be the only aggressive one. But
_I_ have no taste for strife, and so you may both regard his apology as
accepted. But why do you rise, madam? Sit down, I pray, and let me do
the honors. Martha! Jemima!"

But I would not allow him to summon his daughters. The man inspired me
with too much dislike, if not fear; besides, I was anxious about
William. What was he doing, and of what blunder might he not be guilty
without my judicious guidance?

"I am obliged to you," I returned; "but I cannot wait to meet your
daughters now. Another time, Deacon. There is important business going
on at the other end of the lane, and William's presence there may be
required."

"Ah," he observed, following me to the door, "they are digging up Mother
Jane's garden."

I nodded, restraining myself with difficulty.

"Fool's work!" he muttered. Then with a curious look which made