How Deacon Tubman and Parson Whitney Kept New Years | Page 4

luminous eyes, gazed
benevolently at him as he crammed their mangers generously full with
the fragrant hay that smelled sweetly of the flowers and odorous
meadow lands, where in the warm summer sunshine it had ripened for
the welcome scythe.
How happy is life, in whatever part of this great fragrant world of ours
it is lived, when men live it happily; and how gloomy seems its
sunshine, even, when seen through the shadows and darkness of our
surly moods.
What happy-hearted fairy was it that possessed the deacon's heart and
home, on this bright New Year's morn, I wonder? Surely, some angel
of fun and frolic had flown into the deacon's house with the opening of
the year and was filling it, and the hearts within it, too, with mirthful
moods. For the deacon laughed and joked as he buttered his cakes and
fired off his funny sayings at Miranda, as he had never joked and
laughed before, until Miranda herself smiled and giggled; yes, actually
giggled, behind the coffee-urn, at his merry squibs, as if the little imp
above mentioned was mischievously tickling her--yes, I will say it,--her
spinster ribs.
"Mirandy, I'm going up to see the parson," exclaimed the deacon, when
the morning devotions were over, "and see if I can thaw him out a little.

I've heard there used to be a lot of fun in him in his younger days, but
he's sort of frozen all up latterly, and I can see that the young folks are
afraid of him and the church, too, but that won't do--no, that won't do,"
repeated the good man emphatically, "for the minister ought to be loved
by young and old, rich and poor, and everybody; and a church without
young folks in it is like a family with no children in it. Yes, I'll go up
and wish him a happy New Year, anyway. Perhaps I can get him out
for a ride to make some calls on the people and see the young folks at
their fun. It'll do him good and them good and me good, and do
everybody good." Saying which the deacon got inside his warm fur
coat and started towards the barn to harness Jack into the worn,
old-fashioned sleigh; which sleigh was built high in the back and had a
curved dasher of monstrous proportions, ornamented with a prancing
horse in an impossible attitude, done in bright vermilion on a
blue-black ground.
II
"Happy New Year to you, Parson Whitney; happy New Year to you,"
cried the deacon, from his sleigh to the parson, who stood curled up
and shivering in the doorway of the parsonage, "and may you live to
enjoy a hundred."
"Come in; come in," cried Parson Whitney, in response, "I'm glad
you've come; I'm glad you've come. I've been wanting to see you all the
morning," and in the cordiality of his greeting, he literally pulled the
little man through the doorway into the hall and hurried him up the
stairway to his study in the chamber overhead.
"Thinking of me! Well, now, I never," exclaimed the deacon, as,
assisted by the parson, he twisted and wriggled himself out of the coat
that he a little too snugly filled for an easy exit. "Thinking of me, and
among all these books, too; bibles, catechisms, tracts, theologies,
sermons; well, well, that's funny! What made you think of me?"
"Deacon Tubman," responded the parson, as he seated himself in his
arm-chair, "I want to talk with you about the church."

[Illustration: "_I want to talk with you about the church._"]
"The church!" ejaculated the deacon, in response, "nothing going
wrong, I hope?"
"Yes, things are going wrong, deacon," responded the parson; "the
congregation is growing smaller and smaller, and yet I preach good,
strong, biblical, soul-satisfying sermons, I think."
"Good ones! good ones!" answered the deacon, promptly; "never better;
never better in the world."
"And yet the people are deserting the sanctuary," rejoined the parson,
solemnly, "and the young people won't come to the sociables and the
little children seem actually afraid of me. What shall I do, deacon?" and
the good man put the question with pathetic emphasis.
"You have hit the nail on the head, square's a hatchet, parson,"
responded the deacon. "The congregation is thinning; the young people
don't come to the meetings, and the little children are afraid of you."
"What's the matter, deacon?" cried the parson, in return. "What is it?"
he repeated, earnestly; "speak it right out; don't try to spare my feelings.
I will listen to--I will do anything to win back my people's love," and
the strong, old-fashioned, Calvinistic preacher said it in a voice that
actually trembled.
"You can do it; you can do it in a week!" exclaimed the deacon,
encouragingly. "Don't