"Dad liked it," said Sam; "but I guess he liked rum better." "Your father was a misguided man," said the deacon. "He wasted his substance in riotous living." "You'd ought to have seen him when he was tight," said Sam, confidentially. "Didn't he tear round then? He'd fling sticks of wood at my head. O jolly! Didn't I run? I used to hide under the bed when I couldn't run out of doors." "Your father's dead and gone. I don't want to talk against him, but I hope you'll grow up a very different man. Do you think you will like to live with me?" "I guess so," said Sam. "You live in a good house, where the rain don't leak through the roof on your head. You'll give me lots to eat, too; won't you?" "You shall have enough," said the deacon, cautiously, "but it is bad to over-eat. Boys ought to be moderate." "I didn't over-eat to home," said Sam. "I went one day without eatin' a crumb." "You shall have enough to eat at my house, but you must render a return." "What's that?" "You must pay me for it." "I can't; I aint got a cent." "You shall pay me in work. He that does not work shall not eat." "Have I got to work very hard?" asked Sam, anxiously. "I will not task you beyond your strength, but I shall expect you to work faithfully. I work myself. Everybody works in my house." Sam was occupied for a brief space in considering the great problem that connects labor and eating. Somehow it didn't seem quite satisfactory. "I wish I was a pig!" he burst out, rather unexpectedly. "Why?" demanded the deacon, amazed. "Pigs have a better time than men and boys. They have all they can eat, and don't have to work for it nuther." "I'm surprised at you," said the deacon, shocked. "Pigs are only brute animals. They have no souls. Would you be willing to give up your immortal soul for the sake of bein' idle, and doin' no work?" "I don't know anything bout my immortal soul. What good does it do me?" inquired Sam. "I declare! the boy's actilly gropin' in heathen darkness," said the deacon, beginning to think he had undertaken a tough job. "What's that?" asked Sam, mystified. "I haven't time to tell you now, but I must have a long talk with you some day. You aint had no sort of bringing up. Do you ever read the Bible?" "No, but I've read the life of Cap'n Kidd. He was a smart man, though." "Captain Kidd, the pirate?" asked the deacon, horrified. "Yes. Wa'n't he a great man?" "He calls a pirate a great man!" groaned the deacon. "I think I'd like to be a pirate," said Sam, admiringly. "Then you'd die on the gallus!" exclaimed the deacon with energy. "No, I wouldn't. I wouldn't let 'em catch me," said Sam, confidently. "I never heerd a boy talk so," said the deacon. "He's as bad as a--a Hottentot." Deacon Hopkins had no very clear ideas as to the moral or physical condition of Hottentots, or where they lived, but had a general notion that they were in a benighted state, and the comparison seemed to him a good one. Not so to Sam.