things now.  But your beasts, dear me, your beasts must be put in and have a feed; saying which, he went out to order them to be taken to the stable.  As the old gentleman closed the door after him, Mr. Slick drew near to me, and said in an under tone, that is what I call “Soft sawder.”  An Englishman would pass that man as a sheep passes a hog in a pasture, without looking at him; or, said he, looking rather archly, if he was mounted on a pretty smart horse, I guess he’d trot away, if he could.  Now I find—­here his lecture on “Soft sawder” was cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Flint.  Jist come to say good bye, Mrs. Flint.  What, have you sold all your clocks? yes, and very low, too, for money is scarce, and I wished to close the concarn; no, I am wrong in saying all, for I have just one left.  Neighbor Steel’s wife asked to have the refusal of it, but I guess I won’t sell it; I had but two of them, this one and the feller of it, that I sold Governor Lincoln.  General Green, the Secretary of State for Maine, said he’d give me 50 dollars for this here one—­it has composition wheels and patent axles, it is a beautiful article—­a real first chop—­no mistake, genuine superfine, but I guess I’ll take it back; and beside, Squire Hawk might think kinder harder, that I did not give him the offer.  Dear me, said Mrs. Flint, I should like to see it, where is it?  It is in a chest of mine over the way, at Tom Tape’s store, I guess he can ship it on to Eastport.  That’s a good man, said Mrs. Flint, jist let’s look at it Mr. Slick, willing to oblige, yielded to these entreaties, and soon produced the clock—­a gawdy, highly varnished, trumpery looking affair.  He placed it on the chimney-piece, where its beauties were painted out and duly appreciated by Mrs. Flint, whose admiration was about ending in a proposal, when Mr. Flint returned from giving his directions about the care of the horses.  The Deacon praised the clock, he too thought it a handsome one; but the Deacon was a prudent man, he had a watch, he was sorry, but he had no occasion for a clock.  I guess you’re in the wrong furrow this time, Deacon, it ant for sale, said Mr. Slick; and if it was, I reckon neighbor Steel’s wife would have it, for she gives me no peace about it.  Mrs. Flint said, that Mr. Steele had enough to do, poor man, to pay his interest, without buying clocks for his wife.  It’s no concarn of mine, said Mr. Slick, as long as he pays me, what he has to do, but I guess I don’t want to sell it, and beside it comes too high; that clock can’t be made at Rhode Island under 40 dollars.  Why it ant possible, said the Clockmaker, in apparent surprise, looking at his watch, why as I’m alive it is 4 o’clock, and if I hav’nt been two hours here—­how on airth shall I reach River Philip to-night?  I’ll tell you what, Mrs. Flint, I’ll leave the clock in your care till I return on my way to the States —­I’ll set it a going and put it to the right time.  As soon as this operation was performed, he delivered the key to the deacon with a sort of serio-comic injunction to wind up the clock every Saturday night, which Mrs. Flint said she would take care should be done, and promised to remind her husband of it, in case he should chance to forget it.