them in paying up the deficiency.  In fact, he who is least able to do it has to carry it all.  Nobody else will trust the church.  He has to trust it for hundreds of dollars.  And then when his grocer and his landlord and his tailor go unpaid, men shrug their shoulders and say, pityingly, “Oh! he’s a minister, he is not trained to business habits.”  And the world looks on in wonder and in silent contempt to see the Christian Church carrying on its business in a manner the flagrant dishonesty of which would close the doors of any bank, deprive any insurance company of its charter, and drive any broker in Wall street from the Brokers’ Board.

Jennie says this last is pretty sharp writing; and she shakes her head over it.  But it is time, and I decline to cancel it.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Our Donation Party—­by Jane Laicus.

My husband wants me to write an account of the donation we gave our new minister.  He wants it to put in his book.

“Why, John,” said I, “I can’t write anything for a book.  I never wrote anything for print in my life.  You mustn’t think I am clever because you are.”

“My dear Jennie,” said he, “there is no magic in print.  Write just such an account as you wrote your mother.  If you had that letter you could not do better than give me that to put in.”

“I can’t possibly write, John.  I would indeed if I could.”

“Then,” said John, “it can’t go in at all.  For I was not here.  I cannot describe it.”

He was so earnest about it I finally had to yield.  He says I always have my own way.  I didn’t this time I am sure.  There is only one thing that reconciles me to it.  I do not believe the publishers will print it.  I told John I wouldn’t trust my writing to his judgment.  I wouldn’t you know, of course because he would be sure to say it was good.  So we agreed to leave it to the publishers.  If they don’t like this chapter they are going to leave it out.  John is going to leave them to read the proof, and we shan’t either of us know till the book is published whether “our donation party” gets in or not.  I confess to a little hope it will get in.

Let me see how it happened.  Oh! this was the way:  Maurice was at our house the Sunday he supplied our pulpit.  He told my husband that he thought he should accept our call.  But he said he didn’t think the parsonage would do him any good.  He wanted to go to housekeeping, but he had not the money to furnish it with, and he would not run in debt.

That set me thinking.  I talked the matter over with Miss Moore and found she was quite of my mind; and the week after, we got Maurice’s letter accepting the call, we proposed to the ladies at the sewing society to undertake to furnish the parsonage.  The idea took at once.  In fact the having a parsonage is a new thing at Wheathedge, and we feel a little pride in having it respectable, you know; at least