News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1892-07-14
THE DEACON'S MEETING.


in, lothian. Do you hear? There's
somebody a-comin' in"
''Let 'em come, blast it all Dom t
you suppose I've got ears as we'll as
you?'
There was a heavy foot on the
scraper, then a vigorous rustling of
the braided husk door-mat and
Reny's second appeal was in a whis-
per.
mind your business growled the
man addressed, and he drew up still
closer around his shoulders the faded
print bed-quilt in which he had wrap
ped himself, and tucked the buffalo
robe tighter still into the arms of
his rocking-chair and about his
knees.
ooh, lothian Don't! I'll have it
put back; III do anything, if you'll
take that thing off and not make
yourself ridiculous"
There were only two seasons in Mrs.
Deacon Crabbe's household. The
transition from spring to winter was
marked by domestic rather than So
lar movements. On the first day of
May, unless that fell upon a Sunday,
the good wOman's kitchen stove was
moved ont into the shed, the rag
carpet, which had hung suspended
on pole in the attic all winter, was
tackled down in its place, chairs, ta-
bles and lounges crossed over and
exchanged partners, and after live
ly dance settled themselves down in
to their regular summer relations to
4 hn of
warm weather was in order. If a be-
lated chill ventured to make itself
felt in the atmosphere, it was stoical-
ly ignored so far as the old lady her
self was concerned. Her husband,
who had always been, in his private
home life, somewhat inconveniently
left-handed in his disposition, grum-
bled out a few emphatic denuncia-
tions from his secular vocabulary
for he was a church deacon, and has |
his prayer-meeting phraseology as
well-and then it quieted down into |
summer routine, and knew from the |
transition that it was time to plant |
corn, beans and cabbages. He had |
never taken on in this fashion before.
Perhaps he was getting rheumatic. |
Reny was just thinking over the re-
spective curative properties of the
herbs in the attic when the visitor |
entered.
1t was the round weather-beatenI |
face of Sam Tooley, the estage-driver, |
that appeared in the door. He took |
out the red cotton bandanna with |
which he was won't to muffie the |
trumpet blast from his nose, and af-
ter this little ceremony of salute he
carelessly diffused his loosely-hung
members on the nearest chair.
well, Deacon" said Sam survey
ing the old mans wrappings with a
quizzical air, ''be We to hum, or be ye
gone to bed, or be We out ridin'? [
hoped, for the prosperity OF Zion,
that | should find ye to hum, cause
you've got to preach tomorrow.
Sam. was one OF the most right
eous of sinners. He was as upright
as saint in his dealings and flip
pant as a scoffer in his speech.
$50, you see, you'd better be a
castin' off the robe of your own right
o. patchwork, amt
Sam drew up nearer and
took hold of the corner of the bed
quilt for closer inspection-"an'
putin on the whole armor o. God.
J ou must anoint yer feet and wash
yer head and take the shield of faith
and the sword of the spirit and go at
'em, hammer an tongs. Tell 'em
they're wicked and perverse gener-
-, L =, |
they aint consumed. Reel off list
o. their sins to 'em. 'Twont hurt
'em none. Tell 'Bijah Davis that he
ii pray like all-possessed IN the epray- I
and he has been OWN me {
for nigh onto three years and | can't
git cent. An Joe Joslyn II grind
out texts O. scripture as he grinds
out corn in his mill, but he'll go right
home and take three times the toll
he'd ought to.
"And the women III whine out
prayers, as women allus will when
they pray in meetin', and up with a
pious shuttle, an then on their way
home they'll tell n stream of lies
about their neighbors big enough to
carry a saw-mill. tell We we ought
ter have few more deacons appoint
ed to go round and look into the
private lives o. these church mem
bers."
Sam paused with look of serious
concern on his face as he meditative- I
Iy twirled his thumbs. The old clock (
never ticked so loud.
An then there's Christy Jones'
she'll squeal out a asky-splittin psalm
about the Lords marcy bein' ever
Iastin' an to all generations, where
she's sent her old bed-ridden mother
off to the poor-house so's't she can
be free to spin street yarn. Wilbur
Brown, he's another of them church
fellers. Everybody knows that he
starved them two-year old critters i
Of his n till they couldn't stand up,
he's so 'fraid he'd have to buy hay J
fore spring. An then the young