Chapter III.



"All that glisters is not gold,
Often have you heard that told;
Many a man his life hath sold,
But my outside to behold."

_Merchant of Venice._


No sooner was Deacon Pratt left alone, than he hastened to the humble
dwelling of the Widow White. The disease of Daggett was a general decay
that was not attended with much suffering. He was now seated in a homely
armchair, and was able to converse. He was not aware, indeed, of the real
danger of his case, and still had hopes of surviving many years. The
deacon came in at the door, just as the widow had passed through it, on
her way to visit another crone, who lived hard by, and with whom she was
in the constant habit of consulting. She had seen the deacon in the
distance, and took that occasion to run across the road, having a sort of
instinctive notion that her presence was not required when the two men
conferred together. What was the subject of their frequent private
communications, the Widow White did not exactly know; but what she
imagined, will in part appear in her discourse with her neighbour, the
Widow Stone.

"Here's the deacon, ag'in!" cried the Widow White, as she bolted hurriedly