"A happy New Year to everybody," cried the deacon, as he thrust his foot
into his stocking, for the floor of the good man's chamber was
carpetless and so cleanly white that its cleanliness itself was enough
to freeze one. "Yes, a happy New Year to everybody, high, low, rich,
poor, south, north, east and west, where'er they are, the world over, at
home and abroad--Amen!" And the deacon, partly at the sweeping character
of his benediction and partly because he was feeling so jolly inside he
couldn't help it, laughed merrily, as he seized a boot and thrust his
foot vigorously into it.

"What's this? what's this?" cried the deacon, as he tugged away at the
straps until he was red in the face. "This boot never went on hard
before. What's the matter with the pesky thing?" And he arose from his
chair, and, standing on one foot, turned and twisted about, tugging all
the while at the straps.

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the deacon, disgusted with its strange
behavior, "what is the matter with the pesky boot?"

[Illustration: "_What's the matter with the pesky thing?_"]

Then he sat down upon the chair again, wrenched his foot out of the
offending article and held it up between both hands in front of him and
shook it violently, when, with a bump and a bound, out rattled a package
upon the floor and rolled half way across the room. The deacon was after
it in a jiffy and, seizing it in his little fat hands, held it up
before his eyes and read: "A New Year's gift from Miranda."

Now Miranda was the deacon's housekeeper,--Mrs. Tubman having peacefully
departed this life some years before,--and, speaking appreciatively of