"The Lord waste all the money in the world that way!" devoutly exclaimed the deacon.
"An' that feller Weasel," continued Miss Peekin, giving the deacon's pet cat a vicious kick, "though he'd always been economical, an' never set a bad example before by persuadin' folk to be intemprit, actilly drored a pistol, and fit with a feller they called Colonel Two—fit for the chance of askin' the crowd to drink to Jim Hockson, an' then went aroun' to all the diggins, tellin' about Jim, an' wastin' his money treatin' folks to drink good luck to Jim. Disgraceful!"
"It's what I'd call a powerful conversion," remarked the deacon.
"But ther's more," said Miss Peekin, with a sigh, and yet with an air of importance befitting the bearer of wonderful tidings.
"What?" eagerly asked Mrs. Crankett.
"Jim's back," said Miss Peekin.
"Mercy on us!" cried Mrs. Crankett.
"The Lord bless and prosper him!" earnestly exclaimed the deacon.
"Well," said Miss Peekin, with a disgusted look, "I s'pose He will, from the looks o' things; fur Eben sez that when Weasel told the fellers how it all wuz, they went to work an' put gold dust in a box fur Jim till ther wus more than he giv fur Brown, an' fellers from all round's been sendin' him dust ever since. He's mighty sight the richest man anywhere near this town."
"Good—bless the Lord!" said the deacon, with delight.