"I believe, sir, it was deemed lawful to do good on the Lord's day."

"Yes, if a body was certain it _would_ do any good. To be sure, Sage is a
capital doctor--as good as any going in these parts--but, half the time,
money paid for doctor's stuff is thrown away."

"Still, I think it our duty to try to serve a fellow-creature that is in
distress; and Daggett, I fear, will not go through the week, if indeed he
go through the night."

"I should be sorry to have him die!" exclaimed the deacon, looking really
distressed at this intelligence. "Right sorry should I be, to have him
die--just yet."

The last two words were uttered unconsciously, and in a way to cause the
niece to regret that they had been uttered at all. But they had come,
notwithstanding, and the deacon saw that he had been too frank. The fault
could not now be remedied, and he was fain to allow his words to produce
their own effect.

"Die he will, I fear, uncle," returned Mary, after a short pause; "and
sorry should I be to have it so without our feeling the consolation of
knowing we had done all in our power to save him, or to serve him."

"It is so far to the Harbour, that no good might come of a messenger; and
the money paid _him_ would be thrown away, too."

"I dare say Roswell Gardner would be glad to go to help a fellow-creature
who is suffering. _He_ would not think of demanding any pay."