The Deacon’s pious ear had been shocked by the young man’s imperfectly concealed profanity, and for an instant he thought of administering a rebuke, but the charms of prospective cheap labor lured the good man from the path of rectitude.

“I’m fixin’ my cow-shed—­might p’raps give ye a job on’t.  ’Spose ye’d do it cheap, seein’ how dull ev’ry thin’ is?”

The sad eyes of Mrs. Hay grew bright in an instant.  Her husband’s heart jumped up, but he knew to whom he was talking, so he said, as calmly as possible: 

“Three dollars is reg’lar pay.”

The Deacon immediately straightened up as if to go.

“Too much,” said he; “I’d better hire a common lab’rer at a dollar ’n a half, an’ boss him myself.  It’s only a cow-shed, ye know.”

“Guess, though, ye won’t want the nails druv no less p’ticler, will ye, Deac’n?” inquired Hay.  “But I tell yer what I’ll do—­I’ll throw off fifty cents a day.”

“Two dollars ort to be enough, George,” resumed the Deacon.  “Carpenterin’s pooty work, an’ takes a sight of headpiece sometimes, but there’s no intellec’ required to work on a cow-shed.  Say two dollars, an’ come along.”

The carpenter thought bitterly of what a little way the usual three dollars went, and of how much would have to be done with what he could get out of the cow-shed, but the idea of losing even that was too horrible to be endured, so he hastily replied: 

“Two an’ a quarter, an’ I’m your man.”

“Well,” said the Deacon, “it’s a powerful price to pay for work on a cow-shed, but I s’pose I mus’ stan’ it.  Hurry up; thar’s the mill-whistle blowin’ seven.”

Hay snatched his tools, kissed a couple of thankful tears, out of his wife’s eyes, and was soon busy on the cow-shed, with the Deacon looking on.

“George,” said the Deacon suddenly, causing the carpenter to stop his hammer in mid-air, “think it over agen, an’ say two dollars.”

Hay gave the good Deacon a withering glance, and for a few moments the force of suppressed profanity caused his hammer to bang with unusual vigor, while the owner of the cow-shed rubbed his hands in ecstasy at the industry of his employe.

The air was bracing, the Winter sun shone brilliantly, the Deacon’s breakfast was digesting fairly, and his mind had not yet freed itself from the influences of the Sabbath.  Besides, he had secured a good workman at a low price, and all these influences combined to put the Deacon in a pleasant frame of mind.  He rambled through his mind for a text which would piously express his condition, and texts brought back Sunday, and Sunday reminded him of the meeting of the night before.  And here was one of those very men before him—­a good man in many respects, though he was higher-priced than he should be.  How was the cause of the Master to be prospered if His servants made no effort?  Then there came to the Deacon’s mind the passage, “—­he which converteth the sinner from the error of his way shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins.”  What particular sins of his own needed hiding the Deacon did not find it convenient to remember just then, but he meekly admitted to himself and the Lord that he had them, in a general way.  Then, with that directness and grace which were characteristic of him, the Deacon solemnly said: