Several among the spectators groaned. “Don’t get ’scited, Mandy; don’t git ’scited. I didn’t lose the church money, thanks to this boy here. But if them dog----” “Hush, deacon! It’s you who is getting ’scited.” “Wa’al, if you had been where I have, Mandy, and seen what I did you’d get ’scited. But this boy here got my money all back, and then, when he tuk me round and showed me how folks live in that big, wicked city, I swan, I felt like giving ’em all homes right here in Basinburg!” “I should think you had brought back a good part of the city,” said one of the bystanders. “Pity the poorest if you call these good,” cried another. “I tuk a fancy to Rob, here,” continued the deacon, unheeding the interruption, ’arter the good turn he did me. But when I come to ax him to go home with me, he said he couldn’t leave his mother. I told him to take her right along, too. But he had fri’nds, and I told him to take ’em along, though I didn’t s’pose there were more’n a house full. Lordy me! when I come to see how they lived, I wouldn’t take no for an answer, with all the land, and fresh air, and room we have out here. “Why, it nearly tuk away my breath to just look in their houses. If you will b’lieve it, Mr. Little,” pointing to the invalid man, “lived in a den right under the street, with teams driving overhead, and he a suffocating in a leetle room nine feet under ground. It was only six feet by eight, and he had no fire, only a part of an old bedstead to lie on, an old tick half full of musty hay and a dirty pillow. Mrs. Willet and her darter lived in a house only four feet wide, though the Lord only knows how high it was. Just think of that, and then of the houses that stand empty here the year round. “These youngsters here were running round wild, like colts turned out to parster, only there weren’t no fences to keep ’em within bounds, and there was no halter on ’em to lead ’em to their stalls when it come night. I tell you, it made my blood bile just to see sich works right in this civilized land. I thought of ’em houses on Hare road standing empty, and says I to myself, ‘there’s room for ’em, and I know the good people of Basinburg will turn to and lend a helping hand.’” He was perspiring freely, while he showed great excitement, but his animated speech was greeted with a profound silence. It is true some one started to cheer him, but he did not have the courage to give full expression to his feelings. The majority were waiting for ’Squire Hardy to speak, and the rest were too timid to venture an opinion, until he had spoken. Clearing his throat, he finally said: “It might have been well enough, deacon, if you hadn’t brought a carload. It’s a mystery to me how they got money enough to pay their fares.” Deacon Cornhill was modest enough not to mention the fact that it had cost him nearly fifteen dollars to make up for their deficit. Withholding this fact, he demanded: