"Do you mean to stay downstairs all night, Deacon Hopkins?" demanded his wife, with uncalled-for asperity. "If so, I shall leave you to yourself."
"I'm ready to go up when you are," said her husband. "I thought you mightn't feel like stayin' down here alone."
"Much protection you'd be in time of danger, Mr. Hopkins,—you that locked the door on your wife, because you was afraid!"
"I wasn't thinkin'," stammered the deacon.
"Probably not," said his wife, in an incredulous tone. "Now go up. It's high time we were all in bed again."
Sam was not called at as early an hour as the deacon intended. The worthy man, in consequence of his slumbers being interrupted, overslept himself, and it was seven o'clock when he called Sam.
"Get up, Samuel," he said; "it's dreadful late, and you must be spry, or you won't catch up with the work."
Work, however, was not prominent in Sam's mind, as his answer showed.
"Is breakfast ready?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.
"It's most ready. Get right up, for it's time to go to work."