"At that the parson himself speaks up. 'I think yer wrong thar, Mrs. Stickles,' sez he. 'I had two hull weeks once, fer which I've allus been most thankful.'
"'An what are two weeks?' sez I. 'An' didn't ye pay yer own travellin' expenses?'
"'Yes,' sez he, 'I did.'
"'Thar now,' sez I to Mr. Dale. 'What d'ye think of that? Two weeks in over thirty years of hard work!' But that reminds me of somethin' else--an', sez I, 'Who pays yer salary, Mr. Dale? D'ye mind tellin' me that?' "'The Mission Board' sez he.
"'An' do ye git it reglar?' sez I.
"'Every month,' sez he.
"'I thought so,' sez I. 'An' d'ye think the parson here gits his every month?'
"'I don't know,' sez he. 'But s'pose he does.'
"'Not by a long chalk,' sez I. 'He has to wait months an' months fer it, an' sometimes he doesn't git it at all, an' then has to take hay an' oats, or do without. I know that to be a fact. Old skinflint Reeker over thar owed two dollars one year to the church, an' he wondered how in the world he was to git out of payin' it. Durin' the summer a Sunday-school picnic was held on his place back in his grove, an' fer one of the games the parson cut down four little beeches about as big as canes. Thar was thousands of 'em growin' around, an' wasn't worth a postage-stamp. But old Reeker saw 'im cut 'em, an' the next day he went to the parson an' told 'im how vallable the beeches was--his fancy trees or somethin' like that--an' charged 'im fifty cents a piece, the amount he owed to the church. "Wasn't that so, Parson?" sez I, turnin' to 'im.'
"'Yes, yes,' sez he. 'But it ain't worth speakin' about now. I think we had better have our cup of tea, an' talk no more about the subject.'"