So everybody shook hands with the parson and wished him a happy New
Year, and the parson shook hands with everybody and wished them all many
happy returns; and everybody praised Old Jack and rallied the deacon on
his driving, and then everybody went home good-natured and happy,
laughing and talking about the wonderful race and the change that had
come over Parson Whitney.

And as for Parson Whitney himself, the day and its fun had taken twenty
years from his age. And nothing would answer but the deacon must go with
him and help eat the New Year's pudding at the parsonage. And he did.

At the table they laughed and talked over the funny incidents of the day
and joked each other as merrily as two boys. Then Parson Whitney told
some reminiscences of his college days and the scrapes he got into, and
about a riot between town and gown when he carried the "Bully's Club";
and the deacon returned by narrating his experiences with a certain
Deacon Jones's watermelon patch, when he was a boy.

And over their tales and their nuts they laughed till they cried, and
roared so lustily at the remembered frolics of their youthful days that
the old parsonage rang, the books on the library shelves rattled and
several of the theological volumes actually gaped with horror.

But at last the stories were all told, the jokes all cracked, the
laughter all laughed, and the little deacon wished the parson good-bye
and jogged happily homeward. But more than once he laughed to himself
and said, "Bless my soul, I didn't know the parson had so much fun in
him."

And long the parson sat by the glowing grate, after the deacon had left