to the imminent danger of one of his feet. As the Deacon
continued, the carpenter dropped his head to one side, raised one
eye-brow inquiringly, and awaited the conditions. But when the Deacon
said "That's all," George Hay seized the Deacon's hard old hand, gave it
a grasp which brought agonized tears to the eyes of its venerable owner,
and exclaimed:

"Deacon, God's people are reformin'!"

The Deacon staggered a little--he had not thought of it in that light
before.

"Deacon, that money'll do more good than all the prayin' ye ever done.
'Xcuse me--I must tell Mary," and the carpenter dashed into the house.
Had Mrs. Hay respected the dramatic proprieties, she would have made the
Deacon a neat speech; but the truth is, she regarded him from behind the
window-blind, and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron; seeing
which the Deacon abruptly started for home, making less use of his cane
than he had done in any day for years.

It is grievous to relate, but truth is mighty--that within a fortnight
the good Deacon repented of his generous action at least fifty times. He
would die in the poor-house if he were so extravagant again. Three
hundred dollars was more than the cow-shed--lumber, shingles, nails,
labor and all--would cost. Suppose Hay should take the money and go
West? Suppose he should take to drinking, and spend it all for liquor!
One suspicion after another tortured the poor man until he grew thin and
nervous. But on the second Sunday, having satisfied himself that Hay was
in town, sober, the day before, that he had been to the city and brought
back bundles, and that he (the Deacon) had seldom been in the street
without meeting one of Hay's children with a paper of hooks and eyes or
a spool of thread, the Deacon stationed himself in one of his own front
windows, and brought his spectacles to bear on Hay's door, a little
distance off. The first bell had rung, apparently, hours before, yet no
one appeared--could it be that he had basely sneaked to the city at
night and pawned everything? No--the door opened--there they came. It
couldn't be--yes, it was--well, he never imagined Hay and his wife were
so fine a-looking couple. They came nearer, and the Deacon, forgetting
his cane, hobbled hurriedly to church, entered his pew, and left the
door wide open. He waited long, it seemed to him, but they did not come.
He looked around impatiently, and there, O, joy and wonder!--the
president of the Pawkin Savings' Ins