done, he gave thanks to the rustic god, who watched his house, and
protected his flocks. They were the best of friends; each was modest
and reasonable. To-day God is like a dead ancestor; there is no way to
argue with him."

"I'm glad," said Mr. Tomkins, "that the minister isn't here to listen
to you. Come along now; I've plenty still to do before supper. The
widow Wicket's gate is down. But I've promised to set a fence for
Farmer Barly first."

"You need help, William," remarked Mr. Jeminy thoughtfully; "you need
help. I must see what I can do." And he went home, down the hill,
after Mr. Tomkins.

The next day he started out early in the morning. When Mrs. Grumble
asked him where he was going, he replied, "I must step over to Mr.
Tomkins, to help him with something."

From Mr. Tomkins he borrowed a saw, a plane, a hammer, and a box of
nails. Then he hurried off to mend Mrs. Wicket's gate. On the way he
stopped to gather an armful of goldenrod for his friend, and also to
pick a yellow aster for himself, from Mrs. Cobbler's garden.

When he arrived at Mrs. Wicket's cottage, the widow's pale face and
listless manner, filled him with alarm. "I've been up with Juliet,"
she said. "The child has a touch of croup. It's nothing. She's
better this morning." And she gave him her hand, still cold with the
chill of night.

"Good heavens," exclaimed Mr. Jeminy; "I am sure Mrs. Grumble would