and the reasons for it was still in his coat-pocket, and he had designed sending it back by some messenger at the tavern where he took the midnight stage; but here was a more trusty party.  It involved, to be sure, the necessity of taking Biah into his confidence.  James was well aware that to tell that acute individual the least particle of a story was like starting a gimlet in a pine board—­there was no stop till it had gone through.  So he told him in brief that a good berth had been offered to him on the Eastern Star, and he meant to take it to relieve his father of the pressure of his education.

“Wal naow—­you don’t say so,” was Biah’s commentary.  “Wal, yis, ’tis hard sleddin’ for the deacon—­drefful hard sleddin.’  Wal, naow, s’pose you’re disapp’inted—­shouldn’t wonder—­jes’ so.  Eddication’s a good thing, but ‘taint the only thing naow; folks larns a sight rubbin’ round the world—­ and then they make money.  Jes’ see, there’s Cap’n Stebbins and Cap’n Andrews and Cap’n Merryweather—­all livin’ on good farms, with good, nice houses, all got goin’ to sea.  Expect Mis’ Pitkin’ll take it sort o’ hard, she’s so sot on you; but she’s allers sayin’ things is for the best, and maybe she’ll come to think so ’bout this—­folks gen’ally does when they can’t help themselves.  Wal, yis, naow—­goin’ to walk to the cross-road tavern? better not.  Jest wait a minit and I’ll hitch up and take ye over.

“Thank you, Biah, but I can’t stop, and I’d rather walk, so I won’t trouble you.”

“Wal, look here—­don’t ye want a sort o’ nest-egg?  I’ve got fifty silver dollars laid up:  you take it on venture and give me half what it brings.”

“Thank you, Biah.  If you’ll trust me with it I’ll hope to do something for us both.”

Biah went into the house, and after some fumbling brought out a canvas bag, which he put into James’s hand.

“Wanted to go to sea confoundedly myself, but there’s Mariar Jane—­she won’t hear on’t, and turns on the water-works if I peep a single word.  Farmin’s drefful slow, but when a feller’s got a gal he’s got a cap’n; he has to mind orders.  So you jest trade and we’ll go sheers.  I think consid’able of you, and I expect you’ll make it go as fur as anybody.”

“I’ll try my best, you may believe, Biah,” said James, shaking the hard hand heartily, as he turned on his way towards the cross-roads tavern.

The whole village of Maplewood on Thanksgiving Day morning was possessed of the fact that James Pitkin had gone off to sea in the Eastern Star, for Biah had felt all the sense of importance which the possession of a startling piece of intelligence gives to one, and took occasion to call at the tavern and store on his way up and make the most of his information, so that by the time the bell rang for service the news might be said to be everywhere.  The minister’s general custom on Thanksgiving Day was to get off a political sermon reviewing the State of New England,