Chapter 2

"Marry, I saw your niece do more favours
To the count's serving-man, than ever she bestowed
Upon me; I saw it i' the orchard."

_Twelfth Night._

On the Sunday in question, Deacon Pratt went to meeting as usual, the
building in which divine service was held that day, standing less than two
miles from his residence; but, instead of remaining for the afternoon's
preaching, as was his wont, he got into his one-horse chaise, the vehicle
then in universal use among the middle classes, though now so seldom seen,
and skirred away homeward as fast as an active, well-fed and powerful
switch-tailed mare could draw him; the animal being accompanied in her
rapid progress by a colt of some three months' existence. The residence
of the deacon was unusually inviting for a man of his narrow habits. It
stood on the edge of a fine apple-orchard, having a door-yard of nearly
two acres in its front. This door-yard, which had been twice mown that
summer, was prettily embellished with flowers, and was shaded by four rows
of noble cherry-trees. The house itself was of wood, as is almost
uniformly the case in Suffolk, where little stone is to be found, and
where brick constructions are apt to be thought damp: but, it was a
respectable edifice, with five windows in front, and of two stories. The
siding was of unpainted cedar-shingles; and, although the house had been
erected long previously to the revolution, the siding had been renewed but
once, about ten years before the opening of our tale, and the whole
building was in a perfect state of repair. The thrift of the deacon
rendered him careful, and he was thoroughly convinced of the truth of the
familiar adage which tells us that "a stitch in time, saves nine." All
around the house and farm was in perfect order, proving the application of
the saying. As for the view, it was sufficiently pleasant, the house
having its front towards the east, while its end windows looked, the one
set in the direction of the Sound, and the other in that of the arm of the
sea, which belongs properly to Peconic Bay, we believe. All this water,
some of which was visible over points and among islands, together with a
smiling and fertile, though narrow stretch of foreground, could not fail
of making an agreeable landscape.

It was little, however, that Deacon Pratt thought of views, or beauty of
any sort, as the mare reached the open gate of his own abode. Mary was
standing in the stoop, or porch of the house, and appeared to be anxiously
awaiting her uncle's return. The latter gave the reins to a black, one who
was no longer a slave, but who was a descendant of some of the ancient
slaves of the Pratts, and in that character consented still to dawdle
about the place, working