“But what shall I do? what shall I do?” reiterated the parson, somewhat despondently.

“Oh, put on your hat and gloves and warmest coat and come along with me.  We will see what the young folks are doing and will make a day of it.  Come, come; let the old books and catechisms and sermons and tracts have a respite for once, and we’ll spend the day out of doors with the boys and girls and the people.”

“I’ll do it!” exclaimed the parson.  “Deacon Tubman, you are right.  I keep to my study too closely.  I don’t see enough of the world and what’s going on in it.  I was reading the Testament this morning and I was impressed with the Master’s manner of living and teaching.  It is not certain that he ever preached more than twice in a church during all his ministry on the earth.  And the children! how much he loved the children and how the little ones loved him!  And why shouldn’t they love me, too?  Why shouldn’t they?  I’ll make them do it.  The lambs of my flock shall love me.”  And with these brave words, Parson Whitney bundled himself up in his warmest garment and followed the deacon down stairs.

[Illustration:  “Tell the folks that you won’t be back till night.”]

“Tell the folks that you won’t be back till night,” called the deacon from the sleigh, “for this is New Year’s and we’re going to make a day of it.”  And he laughed away as heartily as might be—­so heartily, indeed, that the parson joined in the laughter himself as he came shuffling down the icy path toward him.

“Bless me, how much younger I feel already,” said the good man, as he stood up in the sleigh, and with a long, strong breath, breathed the cool, pure air into his lungs.  “Bless me, how much younger I feel already,” he repeated, as he settled down into the roomy seat of the old sleigh.  “Only sixteen to-day, eh, deacon,” and he nudged him with his elbow.

“That’s all; that’s all, parson,” answered the deacon, gayly, as he nudged him vigorously back, “that’s all we are, either of us,” and, laughing as merrily as boys, the two glided away in the sleigh.

[Illustration:  “It was found that the parson could steer a sled.”]

Well, perhaps they didn’t have fun that day—­those two old boys that had started out with the feeling that they were “only sixteen,” and bound to make “a day of it.”  And they did make a day of it, in fact, and such a day as neither had had for forty years.  For, first, they went to Bartlett’s hill, where the boys and girls were coasting, and coasted with them for a full hour; and then it was discovered by the younger portion of his flock that the parson was not an old, stiff, solemn, surly poke, as they had thought, but a pleasant, good-natured, kindly soul, who could take and give a joke and steer a sled as well as the smartest boy in the crowd; and when it came to snow-balling, he could send a ball further than Bill Sykes himself, who could out-throw any boy in town, and roll up a