CHAP. IV.[ToC]
DEACON BISSELL.
Deacon Bissell—Deacon Abijah Bissell, was a peddler of this sort. I should not wonder if some of my readers had heard of the deacon. He is in heaven now, I doubt not. But his fame, which, while he was living, had spread over quite a large section of country in the commonwealth of Massachusetts, is not dead yet. I dare say scores and scores of housewives are now on the stage, within a good deal less than a hundred miles of Boston, who could show you milk pans still on duty in their cheese room, which came from Deacon Bissell's wagon.
Deacon Abijah Bissell—Buysell a great many people had it—occupied a snug little house, with ever so many flowers in the door yard, and ever so many tufts of moss on its old shingles. He did not spend more than half his time at home. The rest was devoted to peddling. No wandering Arab ever moved oftener from place to place than Deacon Bissell. Still he had his orbit, and he traveled in it as regularly as the moon, and Jupiter, and our own planet, travel in their orbits. Every family he visited knew almost the exact day of his arrival. The deacon had a great deal of method in everything he did. He was one of the most punctual and precise men you ever met. An anecdote at this moment occurs to me, which goes to show what a value he placed upon punctuality.
Patty Bissell, his eldest daughter, was to ride over to Boston with the old gentleman. She had been wanting to go to the city for a long time, and she was delighted when her father invited her to go.
"Patty, how long will it take you to get ready?" asked the deacon.
"Half an hour," the girl replied.
"Well, say an hour," said the deacon. "But don't fail to be ready at the moment. I want you to learn to be punctual, my dear."
"Oh, I shall be ready in an hour, father, and in less time, too."