“O, no,” said Mr. Bright, who was bringing in various baskets and shawls.  “That’s not our garden; but we have just as much pleasure looking at it as if it was.  A great Southern nabob lives there.  He made a heap o’ money selling women and children, and he’s come North to spend it.  He’s a very pious man, and deacon of the church.”  The children began to laugh; for Mr. Bright drawled out his words in solemn tones, and made his broad face look very comical by trying to lengthen it.  “His name is Stillham,” added he, “but I call him Deacon Steal’em.”

As he passed out, Rosa whispered to her mother, “What does he mean about a deacon’s selling women and children?”

Before an answer could be given, Mr. Bright reappeared with a bird-cage.  “I guess this is a pretty old parrot,” said he.

“Yes, she is quite old,” replied Mrs. Delano.  “But we are all attached to her; and our house being shut up for the summer, we were unwilling to trust her with strangers.”

The parrot, conscious of being talked about, turned up her head sideways, and winked her eye, without stirring from the corner of the cage, where she was rolled up like a ball of feathers.  Then she croaked out an English phrase, which she had learned of the children, “Polly wants a cacker.”

“She shall have a cracker,” said good-natured Mr. Bright; and Rosa and little Lila were soon furnished with a cracker and a lump of sugar for Poll.

In a short time they were summoned to tea; and after enjoying Mrs. Bright’s light bread and sweet butter, they saw no more of their host and hostess for the evening.  In the morning the whole family were up before the hour appointed for breakfast, and were out in the garden, taking a look at the environments of their new abode.  As Mrs. Blumenthal was walking among the bushes, Mr. Bright’s beaming face suddenly uprose before her, from where he was stooping to pluck up some weeds.

“Good morning, ma’am,” said he.  “Do hear that old thief trying to come Paddy over the Lord!”

As he spoke, he pointed his thumb backward toward Deacon Stillham’s house, whence proceeded a very loud and monotonous voice of prayer.

Mrs. Blumenthal smiled as she inquired, “What did you mean by saying he sold women and children?”

“Made his money by slave-trading down in Carolina, ma’am.  I reckon a man has to pray a deal to get himself out of that scrape; needs to pray pretty loud too, or the voice of women screaming for their babies would get to the throne afore him.  He don’t like us over and above well, ’cause we’re Abolitionists.  But there’s Betsey calling me; I mustn’t stop here talking.”

Mrs. Blumenthal amused her companions by a repetition of his remarks concerning the Deacon.  She was much entertained by their host’s original style of bubbling over, as she termed it.  After breakfast she said:  “There he is in the garden.  Let’s go and talk with him, Florimond.”