But even this (to the Deacon) extraordinary concession was unproductive of sleep.  “He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.”  There! he could hear that indignant carpenter again.  What an unsatisfactory passage that was, to be sure!  If it would only read the other way—­it didn’t seem a bit business-like the way it stood.  And yet, as the Deacon questioned himself there in the dark, he was forced to admit that he had a very small balance—­even of loans—­to his credit in the hands of the Lord.  He had never lent to the Lord except in his usual business manner—­as small a loan as would be accepted, on as extensive collaterals as he could exact.  Oh, why did people ever forsake the simple raiment of their forefathers, and robe themselves in garments grievous in price, and stumbling-blocks in the path of their fellow-men?

But sleep failed even to follow this pious reflection.  Suppose—­only suppose, of course—­that he were to give—­lend, that is—­lend Hay money enough to dress his family fit for church—­think what a terrible lot of money it would take!  A common neat suit for a man would cost at least thirty dollars, an overcoat nearly twice as much; a suit cloak, and other necessities for his wife would amount to as much more, and the children—­oh, the thing couldn’t be done for less than two hundred and fifty dollars.  Of course, it was entirely out of the question—­he had only wondered what it would cost—­that was all.

Still no sleep.  He wished he hadn’t spoken with Hay about his soul—­next time he would mind his own business.  He wished he hadn’t employed Hay.  He wished the meeting for consideration of the needs of the impenitent had never taken place.  “No man can come to me except the Father which sent me draw him”—­he wished he had remembered that passage, and quoted it at the meeting—­it was no light matter to interfere with the Almighty’s plans.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.”  Hah! Could that carpenter be in the room, disarranging his train of thought with such—­such—­tantalizing texts!  They had kept him awake, and at his time of life a restless night was a serious matter.  Suppose—­

Very early the next morning the village doctor, returning from a patient’s bedside, met the Deacon with a face which suggested to him (the doctor was pious and imaginative) “Abraham on Mount Moriah.”  The village butcher, more practical, hailed the good man, and informed him he was in time for a fine steak, but the Deacon shook his head in agony, and passed on.  He neared the carpenter’s house, stopped, tottered, and looked over his shoulder as if intending to run; at length he made his way behind the house, where Hay was chopping firewood.  The carpenter saw him and turned pale—­he feared the Deacon had found cheaper labor, and had come to give him warning.