Again the deacon found his voice, and his words were to the general effect that the blame swizzled, ornery, ill-sired, and regrettably reared pew-gags had, in defiance of law and order, stolen and made away with his leg--and what was he to do? "Deacon, you can't go like that. If this story got into the meetin' it would do fer you. You'd git laughed out. Them Congregationalists 'u'd win. You got to have a sound leg to travel on, and I don't see but one way to git it." "How's that?" "Call in young Parson Hooper and make him force them adherents of hisn to give it up." Scattergood did not wait for the permission he surmised would not be given, but sent word for Jason Hooper, who came, saw, and was most remarkably astonished. "Parson," said Scattergood, "this here outrage is onendurable. Some of you Congregationers done it, and stole his other leg. As leader of your flock and a honest man, it's your bounden duty to git it back." "But I--I know nothing about it. What can I do? I--There isn't a thing you can do." "Deacon," said Scattergood, "there hain't a soul in the world can git back your leg in time but this young man. Maybe he don't know he kin do it, but he kin. Hain't you got no offer to make?" The parson started to say something, but Scattergood silenced him with a waggle of the head. "I got to git to that meetin'," bellowed the deacon. "There hain't nothin' in the world I wouldn't give to git there, and git there whole and hearty, and so's not to be laughed at." "Remind you of any leetle want of yourn?" asked Scattergood. He took the young man aside and whispered to him. "Deacon," he said, presently, "Parson Hooper says as how he don't see no reason for interferin' and helpin' his enemy." The parson had said nothing of the sort. "But I kin see a reason, Deacon. If this here young man was a member of your family, so to speak, and was related to you clost by ties of love and marriage, I don't see how he'd have a right to hold his hand.... Want this man's daughter f'r your wedded wife, don't you?" "Yes," said the parson, faintly. "Hear that, Deacon? Hear that?" "Never, by the hornswoggled whale that swallered Jonah." "Meetin's about to start," said Scattergood, looking at his watch. The deacon sweated and bellowed, but Scattergood adroitly waved the red flag of animosity before his eyes, and pictured black ruin and defeat--until the deacon was ready to surrender life itself. "Git me my leg," he shouted, "and you kin have anythin'.... Git me my leg." "Is it a promise, Deacon? Calculate it's a promise?" "I promise. I promise, solemn." Scattergood whispered again in the pastor's ear, who stuttered and flushed and choked, and hurried out of the room, presently to reappear with the deacon's spare leg. "Now, young feller, make your preparations for that there weddin'.... Scoot."