I say Deacon Tubman bounced into his trousers, but, to be exact, I should say that he bounced into half of them; and, with the other half trailing behind him, he skipped to the window and, putting his little, plump, round face almost against the pane, gazed out upon the world.  Everything was bright, sparkling and cold, for the earth was covered with snow and the clear gray of the early morning spread its rayless illumination over the great dome, in the fading blue of which a few starry points still gleamed.

“Bless me, what a morning!” he exclaimed.  “Beautiful! beautiful!” he repeated, as he stood with his eyes fastened upon the east and, balancing himself on one foot, felt around with the other for that half of the trousers not yet appropriated.  “Bless me, what a day,” he ejaculated, as he saved himself by a quick, upward wrench, from falling from a trip he had inadvertently given himself in an abortive effort to insert his foot into the unfilled leg of his pantaloons.  “Ha, ha, that’s a good un,” he exclaimed; “trip yourself up in getting into your own trousers, will you, Deacon Tubman?” and he laughed long and merrily to himself over his little joke.

“A happy New Year to everybody,” cried the deacon, as he thrust his foot into his stocking, for the floor of the good man’s chamber was carpetless and so cleanly white that its cleanliness itself was enough to freeze one.  “Yes, a happy New Year to everybody, high, low, rich, poor, south, north, east and west, where’er they are, the world over, at home and abroad—­Amen!” And the deacon, partly at the sweeping character of his benediction and partly because he was feeling so jolly inside he couldn’t help it, laughed merrily, as he seized a boot and thrust his foot vigorously into it.

“What’s this? what’s this?” cried the deacon, as he tugged away at the straps until he was red in the face.  “This boot never went on hard before.  What’s the matter with the pesky thing?” And he arose from his chair, and, standing on one foot, turned and twisted about, tugging all the while at the straps.

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the deacon, disgusted with its strange behavior, “what is the matter with the pesky boot?”

[Illustration:  “What’s the matter with the pesky thing?”]

Then he sat down upon the chair again, wrenched his foot out of the offending article and held it up between both hands in front of him and shook it violently, when, with a bump and a bound, out rattled a package upon the floor and rolled half way across the room.  The deacon was after it in a jiffy and, seizing it in his little fat hands, held it up before his eyes and read:  “A New Year’s gift from Miranda.”