“They all do, don’t they?” said Mr Greenleaf.
“Well, I don’t know. They all say they do. But there’s Deacon Fish now,” said Mr Snow, nodding to that worthy, as his wagon whirled past, “he don’t begin to think that grace or anything else, could make me such a good man as he is.”
Mr Greenleaf laughed.
“If the vote of the town was taken, I guess it would be decided that grace wouldn’t have a great deal to do.”
“Well, the town would make a mistake. Deacon Fish ain’t to brag of for goodness, I don’t think; but he’s a sight better than I be. But see here, Squire, don’t you think the new minister’ll about fit?”
“He’ll fit me,” said the Squire. “It is easy to see that he is not a common man. But he won’t fit the folks here, or they won’t fit him. It would be too good luck if he were to stay here.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. There are folks enough in the town that know what’s good when they hear it, and I guess they’ll keep him if they can. And I guess he’ll stay. He seems to like the look of things. He is a dreadful mild-spoken man, and I guess he won’t want much in the way of pay. I guess you had better shell out some yourself, Squire. I mean to.”
“You are a rich man, Mr Snow. You can afford it.”
“Come now, Squire, that’s good. I’ve worked harder for every dollar I’ve got, than you’ve done for any ten you ever earned.”
The Squire shook his head.