Everybody's eyes turned in the direction from which it came.

A group instantly gathered round the person who had uttered it, who was no other than Deacon Soper.
"He's chokin'! he's chokin'!" was the first exclamation,--"slap him on the back!" Several heavy fists beat such a tattoo on his spine that the Deacon felt as if at least one of his vertebrae would come up.
"He's black in the face," said Widow Leech, "he 's swallered somethin' the wrong way.

Where's the Doctor ?--let the Doctor get to him, can't ye ?" "If you will move, my good lady, perhaps I can," said Doctor Kittredge, in a calm tone of voice.

"He's not choking, my friends," the Doctor added immediately, when he got sight of him.
"It 's apoplexy,--I told you so,--don't you see how red he is in the face ?" said old Mrs.Peake, a famous woman for "nussin" sick folks, -- determined to be a little ahead of the Doctor.
"It's not apoplexy," said Dr.Kittredge.
"What is it, Doctor?
what is it?
Will he die?
Is he dead ?--Here's his poor wife, the Widow Soper that is to be, if she a'n't a'ready." "Do be quiet, my good woman," said Dr.Kittredge.--"Nothing serious, I think, Mrs.Soper.

Deacon!" The sudden attack of Deacon Soper had begun with the extraordinary sound mentioned above.