How Deacon Tubman and Parson Whitney Kept New Years | Page 5

worry about it, parson, it'll be all right; it'll be all
right. Your books are the trouble."
"Eh? eh? books?" ejaculated the parson. "What have they to do with
it?"
"Everything," replied the beacon, stoutly; "you pore over them day in
and day out; they keep you in this room here, when you should be out
among the people. Not making pastoral visits, I don't mean that, but
going around among them, chatting and joking and having a good time.

They would like it, and you would like it, and as for the young
folks,--how old are you, parson?"
"Sixty, next month," answered the parson, solemnly, "sixty next
month."
"Thirty! thirty! that's all you are, parson, or all you ought to be," cried
the deacon. "Thirty, twenty, sixteen. Let the figures slide down and up,
according to circumstances, but never let them go higher than thirty,
when you are dealing with young folks. I'm sixty myself, counting
years, but I'm only sixteen; sixteen this morning, that's all, parson," and
he rubbed his little, round, plump hands together, looked at the parson
and winked.
"Bless my soul, Deacon Tubman, I don't know but that you are right!"
answered the parson. "Sixty? I don't know as I am sixty." And he began
to rub his own hands, and came within an ace of executing a wink at
the deacon himself.
"Not a day over twenty, if I am any judge of age," responded the
deacon, deliberately, as he looked the white-headed old minister over
with a most comic imitation of seriousness. "Not a day over twenty, on
my honor," and the deacon leaned forward toward the parson and gave
him a punch with his thumb, as one boy might deliver a punch at
another, and then he lay back in his chair and laughed so heartily that
the parson caught the infectious mirth and roared away as heartily as
the deacon.
Yes, it was impossible to sit hobnobbing with the jolly little deacon on
that bright New Year's morning and not be affected by the happiness of
his mood, for he was actually bubbling over with fun and as full of
frolic as if the finger on the dial had, in truth, gone back forty years and
he was only sixteen. "Only sixteen, parson, on my honor."
"But what can I do," queried the good man, sobering down. "I make my
pastoral visits"--
"Pastoral visits!" responded Deacon Tubman, "oh, yes, and they are all

well enough for the old folks, but they ar'n't the kind of biscuit the
young folks like--too heavy in the centre, and over-hard in the crust, for
young teeth, eh, parson?"
"But what shall I do? what shall I do?" reiterated the parson, somewhat
despondently.
"Oh, put on your hat and gloves and warmest coat and come along with
me. We will see what the young folks are doing and will make a day of
it. Come, come; let the old books and catechisms and sermons and
tracts have a respite for once, and we'll spend the day out of doors with
the boys and girls and the people."
"I'll do it!" exclaimed the parson. "Deacon Tubman, you are right. I
keep to my study too closely. I don't see enough of the world and
what's going on in it. I was reading the Testament this morning and I
was impressed with the Master's manner of living and teaching. It is not
certain that he ever preached more than twice in a church during all his
ministry on the earth. And the children! how much he loved the
children and how the little ones loved him! And why shouldn't they
love me, too? Why shouldn't they? I'll make them do it. The lambs of
my flock shall love me." And with these brave words, Parson Whitney
bundled himself up in his warmest garment and followed the deacon
down stairs.
[Illustration: "_Tell the folks that you won't be back till night._"]
"Tell the folks that you won't be back till night," called the deacon from
the sleigh, "for this is New Year's and we're going to make a day of it."
And he laughed away as heartily as might be--so heartily, indeed, that
the parson joined in the laughter himself as he came shuffling down the
icy path toward him.
"Bless me, how much younger I feel already," said the good man, as he
stood up in the sleigh, and with a long, strong breath, breathed the cool,
pure air into his lungs. "Bless me, how much younger I feel already,"
he repeated, as he settled down into the roomy seat of the old sleigh.
"Only sixteen to-day, eh, deacon," and he nudged him with his elbow.

"That's all; that's all, parson," answered the deacon, gayly, as he nudged
him vigorously back,