“Think it’s meant, eh?  Or was it put there jest to preach about?”

“It is meant, undoubtedly.”

“For ministers?”

“Yes.”

“Um!...  Xenophon Banks busted his leg.  ‘Leven-year-old daughter’s tryin’ to carry him and four other childern on to her back, so to speak.”

“I’ll go at once, Mr. Baines.”

Scattergood fidgeted.  “Calculate Xenophon wasn’t forehanded.  Six mouths to feed. More mealtimes than meals,” he said, and fumbled in his pocket.  He was visibly embarrassed.  “Here’s ten dollars that was give me to be used for sich a purpose.  The feller that give it let on he wanted it to come like it was give by the church, and him not mentioned.  Git the idee?”

“I get the idea perfectly,” said young Mr. Hooper, his face lighting as he surveyed Scattergood with a whimsical twinkle—­and as he saw this scheming, money-hungry, power-hungry man in a new light.  “The man may feel confident I shall not betray him.”

“If I was a minister in sich a case I wouldn’t forgit some stick candy for them five childern.  Seems like candy’s ’most necessary for sich.  Dum foolishness, but keeps ’em quiet....  Git a big bag of candy....  And, if I was doin’ this, I wouldn’t let no grass grow under my feet.”

So it happened that Selina Pettybone and the Rev. Jason Hooper, respectively, daughter of the leading deacon of the Baptist church, and parson of the Congregational church, arrived at Xenophon Banks’s little house within ten minutes of each other, and each was greatly embarrassed by the other’s presence, for the family feud had compelled them to be coldly distant to each other all of their short lives....  But there was much to do, and embarrassment of such kind between an unusually pretty and wholesome girl, and a reasonably well-looking and kindly young man, is not an emotion that cannot be easily dissipated.

About a week later Scattergood chanced to pass Deacon Pettybone’s house, and saw the old gentleman sitting on the front porch, shaping a large piece of wood with a draw-shave.

“Afternoon, Deacon,” said Scattergood.

“Set and rest your legs,” said the deacon.  “Jest puttin’ the finishin’ touches on this timber leg of mine.”

“Sturdy-lookin’ leg, Deacon.”

“Best I ever made.  Always calc’late to keep one ahead.  Soon’s one leg wears out and I put on the spare one, I set to work fashionin’ another, to have by me.  Always manage to figger some improvement.”

“More int’restin’ than cuttin’ out ax handles,” said Scattergood.

The deacon looked his scorn.  “Anybody kin cut an ax handle, but lemme tell you it takes study and figgerin’ and brains to turn out a timber leg that’s full as good if not better ’n a real one....  I aim to varnish this here leg and hang it in the harness room.  Wisht I could keep it by me in the kitchen, but the ol’ woman says it sp’iles her appetite.  Wimmin is full of notions.  Claims she’d go crazy with a leg a-hangin’ back of the stove, and some day she’d up and slam it in the oven and serve it up for a roast.  You kin thank your stars you hain’t got wimmin’s notions to worry you, Scattergood.”