I wonder what next," and Sister Poteet, in conjunction with the
entire society, gasped and held their eager breaths, awaiting the
entrance of the subject of conversation.
Sister Spicer went to the front door to let her in, and she was
greeted with the greatest cordiality by everybody.
"We were just talking about you and wondering why you were so late
coming," cried Sister Poteet. "Now take off your things and make up
for lost time. There's a pair of pants over there to be cut down to
fit that poor little Snithers boy."
The excitement and curiosity of the society were almost more than
could be borne, but never a sister let on that she knew the deacon was
at the gate waiting. Indeed, as far as the widow could discover, there
was not the slightest indication that anybody had ever heard there was
such a person as the deacon in existence.
"Oh," she chirruped, in the liveliest of humors, "you will have to
excuse me for today. Deacon Hawkins overtook me on the way here, and
here said I had simply got to go sleigh-riding with him. He's waiting
out at the gate now."
"Is that so?" exclaimed the society unanimously, and rushed to the
window to see if it were really true.
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