"Well, daughter," said the Deacon, "it's a pity we should go through all we do in this world and not learn anything by it. I hope the Lord has taught me not to worry, but just do my best and leave myself and everything else in his hands. We can't help ourselves--we can't make one hair white or black. Why should we wear our lives out fretting? If I'd a known _that_ years ago it would a been better for us all." "Never mind, father, you know it now," said his wife, with a face serene as a star. In this last gift of quietude of soul to her husband she recognized the answer to her prayers of years. "Well now," said Diana, running to the window, "I should like to know what Biah Carter is coming here about." "Oh, Biah's been very kind to us in this sickness," said Mrs. Pitkin, as Biah's feet resounded on the scraper. "Good evenin', Deacon," said Biah, entering, "Good evenin', Mrs. Pitkin. Sarvant, ma'am," to Diana--"how ye all gettin' on?" "Nicely, Biah--well as can be," said Mrs. Pitkin. "Wal, you see I was up to the store with some o' Squire Jones's bell flowers. Sim Coan he said he wanted some to sell, and so I took up a couple o' barrels, and I see the darndest big letter there for the Deacon. Miss Briskett she was in, lookin' at it, and so was Deacon Simson's wife; she come in arter some cinnamon sticks. Wal, and they all looked at it and talked it over, and couldn't none o' 'em for their lives think what it's all about, it was sich an almighty thick letter," said Biah, drawing out a long, legal-looking envelope and putting it in the Deacon's hands. "I hope there isn't bad news in it," said Silas Pitkin, the color flushing apprehensively in his pale cheeks as he felt for his spectacles. There was an agitated, silent pause while he broke the seals and took out two documents. One was the mortgage on his farm and the other a receipt in full for the money owed on it! The Deacon turned the papers to and fro, gazed on them with a dazed, uncertain air and then said: "Why, mother, do look! _Is_ this so? Do I read it right?" "Certainly, you do," said Diana, reading over his shoulder. "Somebody's paid that debt, uncle!" "Thank God!" said Mrs. Pitkin, softly; "He has done it." "Wal, I swow!" said Biah, after having turned the paper in his hands, "if this 'ere don't beat all! There's old Squire Norcross's name on't. It's the receipt, full and square. What's come over the old crittur? He must a' got religion in his old' age; but if grace made him do _that_, grace has done a tough job, that's all; but it's done anyhow! and that's all you need to care about. Wal, wal, I must git along hum--Mariar Jane'll be wonderin' where I be. Good night, all on ye!" and Biah's retreating wagon wheels were off in the distance, rattling furiously, for, notwithstanding Maria Jane's wondering, Biah was resolved not to let an hour slip by without declaring the wonderful tidings at the store.