"Yes, sir, my mamma very often cries when she's glad," spoke up Reuby, his
little face getting very red, and his lips quivering. "She's very glad,
sir, if she says so."

This chivalrous defense calmed poor Draxy, but did not comfort the Deacon,
who hurried away, saying to himself,--

"Don't believe there was ever such a woman nor such a boy in this world
before. She never shed a tear when we brought the Elder home dead, nor
even when she see him let down into the very grave; 'n' I don't believe
she's cried afore anybody till to-day; 'n' that little chap a speakin' up
an' tellin' me his ma often cried when she was glad, an' I was to believe
her spite of her crying! I wish I'd made Job Swift go arter her. I'll make
him go arter that sermon anyhow. I won't go near her agin 'bout this
bisness, that's certain;" and the remorse-stricken, but artful deacon
hastened to his brother deacon's house to tell him that it was "all
settled with Mis' Kinney 'bout the sermon, an' she was quite willin';"
and, "O," he added, as if it were quite a second thought, "ye'd better go
up an' git the sermon, Job, in the mornin,' ye're so much nearer, an'
then, 's ye've to do the readin,' maybe she'll have somethin' to explain
to ye about the way it's to be read; th' Elder's writin' wan't any too
easy to make out, 's fur 's I remember it."

Next morning, just as the first bells were ringing, Deacon Swift knocked
timidly at the door of the Elder's study. Draxy met him with a radiant
face. She had been excited by reading over the sermon she had after long
deliberation selected. The text was,--

"Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you." The sermon had been
written soon after their marriage, and was one of her husband's favorites.