Tom Adams went straight to his employer’s store, and exclaimed, not in his usual ingenuous manner,
“Deacon, old Berry won’t take that load of bricks unless he gets ’em right off; I guess I’ll take ’em right out to him. It’s a long trip, but there’s three hours yet ’fore dark.”
“Be sure you do, then, Thomas,” said the deacon.
Tom was soon in his wagon, and going toward the brick-yard at a livelier rate than was consistent with the proper care of horses with a long, heavy pull before them. The bricks were loaded with apparent regard to count, but not in good order, and, as Tom followed the road to old Berry’s, he soliloquized:
“I ort to be able to ketch him after I deliver the bricks, but what in thunder am I to say to him? Like enough he’ll knock me down if I don’t look out. That’s just the notion, I de-clare! I can knock him down, and put him right in the wagon and bring him back; the joltin’ would fetch him to and clear his head, like it’s done mine often enough when I’ve been in his fix. But, hang it, what a ridick’lus goose-chase it does look like!”
Meanwhile the Reverend Timotheus Brown had limped down the main street, looking a little more unapproachable than usual. As he reached the edge of the town, however, where there began the low plain which led to the river, he quickened his pace somewhat, and he did not stop until he reached the river. Upon a raft sat a man fishing, and near by a canoe was tied; in this latter the preacher seated himself, having first untied it.
“Hello, there! What are you a-doin’ with my dug-out?” shouted the fisherman.
“The Lord hath need of it!” roared the old divine, picking up the paddle.
“Well, I’ll be——!” exclaimed the man; “if that ain’t the coolest! The Lord’ll get a duckin’, I reckon, for that’s the wobbliest canoe. I don’t know, though; the old fellow paddles as if he were used to it.”