It's awful tiresome."
"What's the use of hoein' potatoes?" he asked, after a while. "Won't they grow just as well without it?"
"No," said the deacon.
"I don't see why not."
"They need to have the earth loosened around them, and heaped up where it's fallen away."
"It's a lot of trouble," said Sam.
"We must all work," said the deacon, sententiously.
"I wish potatoes growed on trees like apples," said Sam. "They wouldn't be no trouble then."
"You mustn't question the Almighty's doin's, Samuel," said the deacon, seriously. "Whatever he does is right."
"I was only wonderin', that was all," said Sam.
"Human wisdom is prone to err," said the old man, indulging in a scrap of proverbial philosophy.
"What does that mean?" thought Sam, carelessly hitting the deacon's foot with his descending hoe. Unfortunately, the deacon had corns on that foot, and the blow cost him a sharp twinge.
"You careless blockhead!" he shrieked, raising the injured foot from the ground, while a spasm of anguish contracted his features. "Did you take my foot for a potato-hill?"
"Did I hurt you?" asked Sam, innocently.
"You hurt me like thunder," gasped the deacon, using, in his excitement, words which in calmer moments he would have avoided.
"I didn't think it was your foot," said Sam.
"I hope you'll be more careful next time; you most killed me."
"I will," said Sam.
"I wonder if it isn't time for dinner," he began to think presently, but, under the circumstances, thought it best not to refer to the matter. But at last the welcome sound of the dinner-bell was heard, as it was vigorously rung at the back door by Mrs. Hopkins.
"That's for dinner, Samuel," said the deacon. "We will go to the house."
"All right!" said Sam, with alacrity, throwing down the hoe in the furrow.
"Pick up that hoe, and carry it with you," said the deacon.
"Then we won't work here any more to-day!" said Sam, brightening up.
"Yes, we will; but it's no way to leave the hoe in the fields. Some cat might come along and steal it," he added, with unwonted sarcasm.
Sam laughed as he thought of the idea of a cat stealing a hoe, and the deacon smiled at his own joke.
Dinner was on the table. It was the fashion there to put all on at once, and Sam, to his great satisfaction, saw on one side a pie like that which had tempted him the night before. The deacon saw his look, and it suggested a fitting punishment. But the time was not yet.
Sam did ample justice to the first course of meat and potatoes. When that was despatched, Mrs. Hopkins began to cut the pie.
The deacon cleared his throat.
"Samuel is to have no pie, Martha," he said.
His wife thought it was for his misdeeds of the night before, and so did Sam.
"I couldn't help walkin' in my sleep," he said, with a blank look of disappointment.
"It aint that," said the deacon.
"What is it, then?" asked his wife.
"Samuel ran away from his work this mornin', and was gone nigh on to two hours," said her husband.
"You are quite right, Deacon Hopkins," said his wife, emphatically.
"He don't deserve any dinner at all."
"Can't I have some pie?" asked Sam, who could not bear to lose so tempting a portion of the repast.
"No, Samuel. What I say I mean. He that will not work shall not eat."
"I worked hard enough afterwards," muttered Sam.
"After I came back – yes, I know that. You worked well part of the time, so I gave you part of your dinner. Next time let the cats alone."
"Can I have some more meat, then?" asked Sam.
"Ye-es," said the deacon, hesitating. "You need strength to work this afternoon."
"I s'pose I get that catechism this afternoon instead of goin to work," suggested Sam.
"That will do after supper, Samuel. All things in their place. The afternoon is for work; the evening for readin' and study, and improvin' the mind."
Sam reflected that the deacon was a very obstinate man, and decided that his arrangements were very foolish. What was the use of living if you'd got to work all the time? A good many people, older than Sam, are of the same opinion, and it is not wholly without reason; but then, it should be borne in mind that Sam was opposed to all work. He believed in enjoying himself, and the work might take care of itself. But how could it be avoided?
As Sam was reflecting, a way opened itself. He placed his hand on his stomach, and began to roll his eyes, groaning meanwhile.
"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Hopkins.
"I feel sick," said Sam, screwing up his face into strange contortions.
"It's very sudden," said Mrs. Hopkins, suspiciously.
"So 'tis," said Sam. "I'm afraid I'm going to be very sick. Can I lay down?"
"What do you think it is, Martha?" asked the deacon, looking disturbed.
"I know what it is," said his wife, calmly. "I've treated such attacks before. Yes, you may lay down in your room, and I'll bring you some tea, as soon as I can make it."
"All right," said Sam, elated at the success of his little trick. It was very much pleasanter to lie down than to hoe potatoes on a hot day.
"How easy I took in the old woman!" he thought.
It was not long before he changed his mind, as we shall see in The next chapter.
CHAPTER VII.
SAM MEETS HIS MATCH
Sam went upstairs with alacrity, and lay down on the bed, – not that he was particularly tired, but because he found it more agreeable to lie down than to work in the field.
"I wish I had something to read," he thought, – "some nice dime novel like 'The Demon of the Danube.' That was splendid. I like it a good deal better than Dickens. It's more excitin'."
But there was no library in Sam's room, and it was very doubtful whether there were any dime novels in the house. The deacon belonged to the old school of moralists, and looked with suspicion upon all works of fiction, with a very few exceptions, such as Pilgrim's Progress, and Robinson Crusoe, which, however, he supposed to be true stories.
Soon Sam heard the step of Mrs. Hopkins on the stairs. He immediately began to twist his features in such a way
