"I couldn't do that," replied the deacon, "even ef I was a man uv blood; fur Hesby loves him, an' he's Pet's dad; Besides, his pictur looks like a decent young chap—ain't got no hair on his face, an' looks more like an innercent boy than anythin' else. Hesby thinks Pet looks like him, an' I couldn't touch nobody looking like Pet. Mebbe you'd like to see her pictur," continued the deacon, drawing from his pocket an ambrotype, which he opened and handed Tom.
"Looks sweet ez a posy," said Tom, regarding it tenderly. "Them little lips uv hern look jest like a rose when it don't know whether to open a little further or not."
The deacon looked pleased, and extracted another picture, and remarked, as he handed it to Tom:
"That's Pet's mother."
The Deacon looked pleased, and extracted another
picture, and remarked, as he handed it to Tom, "That's
Pet's mother." Tom took it, looked at it and screamed,
"My wife!"
Tom took it, looked at it, and screamed:
"My wife!"
He threw himself on the floor, and cried as only a big-hearted man can cry.