At eight he had left the house, started Bill Morrill at the
store, and was on the road in search of vengeance and a
housekeeper. Old Mrs. Atkins of Deerwander sniffed at the wages
offered. Miss Peters, of Union Falls, an aged spinster with weak
lungs, had the impertinence to tell him that she feared she
couldn't stand the cold in his house; she had heard he was very
particular about the amount of wood that was burned. A four-mile
drive brought him to the village poetically named the Brick Kiln,
where he offered to Mrs. Peter Upham an advance of twenty-five
cents a week over and above the salary with which he had sought
to tempt Mrs. Atkins. Far from being impressed, Mrs. Uphill,
being of a high temper and candid turn of mind, told him she'd
prefer to starve at home. There was not another free woman within
eight miles, and the Deacon was chafing under t e mortification
of being continually obliged to state the reason for his needing
a housekeeper. The only hope, it seemed, lay in going to Saco
and hiring a stranger, a plan not at all to his liking, as it was
sure to involve him in extra expense.
Muttering threats against the universe in general, he drove home
by way of Milliken's Mills, thinking of the unfed hens, the
unmilked cow, the unwashed dishes, the unchurned cream and above
all of his unchastened daughters; his rage increasing with every
step until it was nearly at the white heat of the night before.
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