"Glad to see, you, deacon," said Mr. Collins, who, having political aspirations, thought it worth while to be polite to his neighbors.
"I ain't so sure of that, squire, when you know what I come about," returned the deacon with a crafty smile.
"No bad news, I hope, deacon."
"Wal, it ain't good news. You know my cow, old Whitey?"
"Well?" interrogated the squire, looking puzzled. He had heard nothing as yet of the accident in the pasture.
"She was shot in the face this afternoon—her eyes totally destroyed. I shall have to kill her."
"That's a pity! I sympathize with you, deacon. It must be a great disappointment to you. She was a good milker, wasn't she?"
"Fust-rate! I never had a cow that could beat her. She was worth fifty dollars easy."
"Very likely," said the squire, innocently, quite unaware of the trap which the wily deacon was preparing for him. It will be observed that the deacon, finding he had a case against a rich man, had concluded to raise the value of the cow by five dollars. "Fifty dollars is a considerable loss."
"So 'tis, but I haven't got to lose it. The one that shot old Whitey is responsible."