"S'pose I might as well get supper, though there ain't much to get,"
said the wife. "There's nothin' in the house but corn-meal, so I'll
bile some mush. An'," she continued, with a peculiar look at her
husband, "there ain't anythin' else for breakfast, though Deacon
Quickset's got lots of hens layin' eggs ev'ry day. I've told the boys
about it again an' again, but they're worth less than nothin' at
helpin' things along. The deacon don't keep no dog. Now you've got
home, I hope we'll have somethin'."

"Not if we have to get it that way," said Sam, gently. "No more
stealin'; I'll die first."

"I guess we'll all die, then," moaned Mrs. Kimper. "I didn't s'pose
bein' sent up was goin' to skeer all the spirit out of you."

"It didn't, Nan, but it's been the puttin' of a new kind of spirit into
me. I've been converted, Nan."

"What?" gasped Mrs. Kimper.

"Thunder!" exclaimed Tom, after a hard laugh. "You goin' to be a
shoutin' Methodist? Won't that be bully to tell the fellers in the
village?"

"I'm not goin' to shout, or be anythin' I know of, except an honest
man: you can tell that to all the fellers you like."

"An' be told I'm a blamed liar? Not much."