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"They ort to flee from even the appearance of evil," said Deacon Towser. "But where be they to flee to, Deac'n?" persisted Joe Digg; "would you like 'em to come a visitin' to your house?" "They can come to the church meetings," replied the Deacon; "there's two in the week, besides Sundays, an' some of 'em's precious seasons all of 'em's an improvement on the wicked tavern."
"Deac'n," said Tom, "do you s'pose I'd hev kerried this for years" here he drew out a small miniature of his wife "ef I hadn't loved her? Yes, an' this too," continued Tom, producing a thin package, wrapped in oilskin. "There's the only two letters I ever got from her, an', just cos her hand writ 'em, I've had 'em just where I took 'em from for four years.
Guess he wus workin' that concertina-thing like mad; an' he jest looked right up at the ceilin' as if he wer' crazy fer some feller to come 'long an' stop him 'fore he bust up the whole shootin' match." "Looked inspired," Tresler suggested. "Mebbe that's wot. Still, I wus glad I come. Then the folks come along, an' the deac'n; an' the feller quit.
Jesus Christ hissef broke down when it come to the cross, deac'n, an' poor human bein's sometimes reaches a pint where they can't stan' no more, an' when its wife an' children that brings it on, it gits a man awful." "The gentleman is right, I have no doubt," said the Chairman, "so far as a limited class is concerned, but of course no such line of argument applies to the majority of cases.
"That's you, Deac'n Crankett," replied his wife, "always stick up for sinners. P'r'aps you'd make better use of your time ef you'd examine yer own evidences." "Wa'al, wife," said the deacon, "she's engaged to that New York feller, ez you call Mr. Brown, so there's no danger of Jim bein' onequally yoked with an onbeliever. An' I wish her well, from the bottom of my heart." "I don't," cried Mrs.
Mebbe ther's a proper time fer ev'rything, an' I don't figger it's reas'nable argyfyin' even wi' a deac'n when his swaller-tail pocket's bustin' wi' shootin' materials. No, sir, guess religion ain't no use fer me." Arizona heaved a deep sigh of regret. Tresler gathered up his saddle and bridle.
Hay and the scanty furnishing of the yet uncleared breakfast-table, that he had been providentially guided to the right spot. "How's times with ye?" "Not very good, Deac'n," replied Hay. "Nothin' much doin' in town." "Money's awful sceerce," groaned the Deacon. "Dreadful," responded George, devoutly thanking the Lord that he owed the Deacon nothing. "Got much to do this winter?" asked the Deacon.
"When the right hand of fellowship is reached out to the front, instead of stuck behind the back when a poor man comes along, there'll be plenty that'll be glad to take it. Reform yer own people, Deac'n. 'Fore yer pick out of our eyes the motes we'll be glad enough to get rid of, ye can get a fine lot of heavy lumber out of yer own."
It's only a cow-shed, ye know." "Guess, though, ye won't want the nails druv no less p'ticler, will ye, Deac'n?" inquired Hay. "But I tell yer what I'll do I'll throw off fifty cents a day." "Two dollars ort to be enough, George," resumed the Deacon. "Carpenterin's pooty work, an' takes a sight of headpiece sometimes, but there's no intellec' required to work on a cow-shed.
"Ef some folks deacons, too wuz ez good But go ahead, deac'n." "Next thing we heard from her, he had gone to the place he was raised in; but a friend of his, who went with him, came back, an' let out he'd got tight, an' been arrested. She writ him right off, beggin' him to come home, and go with her up to our place, where he could be out of temptation an' where she'd love him dearer than ever."
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