"Wal, she ain't a hefty woman, naow," exclaimed the interlocutor, who seemedto be possessed by a dim idea that worth must be weighed by the pound.

"Law bless you, no! She's a little crittur; nothin' to look to, but everybit inside her is _live_. She looks pale, kind o' slips round still likemoonshine, but where anything's to be done, there Mis' Pitkin is; and herarm allers goes to the right spot, and things is done afore ye know it.That are woman's kind o' still; she'll slip off and be gone to heavensome day afore folks know it. There comes the deacon and Jim over thehill. Jim strode home from college day 'fore yesterday, and turned rightin to-day to help get in the taters, workin' right along. Deacon wasawful grouty."

"What was the matter o' the deacon?"