The dame, who is intent upon her sewing again,—she is never without her work, that woman!—does not deign a reply.
The Deacon, after lifting the fire-dog, blowing off the ashes, and holding it to his face to try the heat, says,—
"I guess Almiry ha'n't much of a chance."
"What's the use of your guessin'?" says the dame; "better mind your flip."
Which the Deacon accordingly does, stirring it in a mild manner, until the dame breaks out upon him again explosively:—
"Tourtelot, you men of the parish ought to talk to the parson; it a'n't right for things to go on this way. That boy Reuben is growin' up wild; he wants a woman in the house to look arter him. Besides, a minister ought to have a wife; it a'n't decent to have the house empty, and only Esther there. Women want to feel they can drop in at the parsonage for a chat, or to take tea. But who's to serve tea, I want to know? Who's to mind Reuben in meetin'? He broke the cover off the best hymn-book in the parson's pew last Sunday. Who's to prevent him a-breakin' all the hymn-books that belong to the parish? You men ought to speak to the parson; and, Tourtelot, if the others won't do it, you must."
The Deacon was fairly awake now. He pulled at his whiskers deprecatingly. Yet he clearly foresaw that the emergency was one to be met; the manner of Dame Tourtelot left no room for doubt; and he was casting about for such Scriptural injunctions as might be made available, when the dame interrupted his reflections in more amiable humor,—
"It isn't Almiry, Samuel, I think of, but Mr. Johns and the good of the parish. I really don't know if Almiry would fancy the parson; the girl is a good deal taken up with her pianny and books; but there's the Hapgoods, opposite; there's Joanny Meacham"——
"You'll never make that do, Huldy," said the Deacon, stirring his flip composedly; "they're nigh on as old as parson."
"Never you mind, Tourtelot," said the dame, sharply; "only you hint to the parson that they're good, pious women, all of them, and would make proper ministers' wives. Do you think I don't know what a man is, Tourtelot? Humph!" And she threads her needle again.