"Have you got well?" he asked innocently, for he had not been as clear-sighted as his wife in regard to the character of Sam's malady.
"Yes," said Sam, "I'm a good deal better, but I don't feel quite so strong as I did."
"Mebbe it would be well for you to fast a little," said the deacon, in all sincerity, for fasting was one of his specifics in case of sickness.
"No, I don't think it would," said Sam, quickly. "I'll feel better by supper-time."
"I hope you will," said the deacon.
"I wish I had a piece of pie or somethin' to take the awful taste out of my mouth," thought Sam. "I can taste that wormwood jist as plain! I wonder why such things are allowed to grow."
For the rest of the afternoon Sam worked unusually well. He was under the the deacon's eye, and unable to get away, though he tried at least once. After they had been at work for about an hour, Sam said suddenly, "Don't you feel thirsty, Deacon Hopkins?"
"What makes you ask?" said the deacon;
"Because I'd jist as lieves go to the house and get some water," said Sam, with a very obliging air.
"You're very considerate, Samuel; but I don't think it's healthy to drink between meals."