r ain't no kind of a proselyter, Seems as if he didn't care
how folks got to heaven so long as they got there! The other church is
havin' a service this afternoon side o' the river, an' I'd kind o' like
to go, except it would please 'em too much to have a crowd there to
see the immersion. They tell me, but I don't know how true, that that
Tillman widder woman that come here from somewheres in Vermont wanted to
be baptized to-day, but the other converts declared THEY wouldn't be, if
she was!"

"Jed Morrill said they'd have to hold her under water quite a spell to
do any good," chuckled Uncle Bart from the front seat.

"Well, I wouldn't repeat it, Bartholomew, on the Sabbath day; not if he
did say it. Jed Morrill's responsible for more blasphemious jokes
than any man in Edgewood. I don't approve of makin' light of anybody's
religious observances if they're ever so foolish," said Aunt Abby
somewhat enigmatically. "Our minister keeps remindin' us that the
Baptists and Methodists are our brethren, but I wish he'd be a little
more anxious to have our S'ceity keep ahead of the others."

"Jed's 'bout right in sizin' up the Widder Tillman," was Mr. Day's timid
contribution to the argument. "I ain't a readin' man, but from what
folks report I should think she was one o' them critters that set on
rocks bewilderin' an' bedevilin' men-folks out o' their senses--SYREENS,
I think they call 'em; a reg'lar SYREEN is what that woman is, I guess!"

"There, there, Abel, you wouldn't know a syreen if you found one in your
baked beans, so don't take away a woman's character on hearsay." And
Mrs. Day, having shut up her husband as was her bounden duty as a wife
and a Christian, tied her bonnet strings a little tighter and looked
distinctly pleased with herself.

"Abel ain't startin' any new gossip," was Aunt Abby's opinion, as she
sprung to his rescue. "One or two more holes in a colander don't make
much dif'rence.--Bartholomew, we're certainly goin' to be late this
mornin'; we're about the last team on the road"; and Aunt Abby glanced
nervously behind. "Elder Boone ain't begun the openin' prayer, though,
or we should know it. You can hear him pray a mile away, when the wind's
right. I do hate to be late to meetin'. The Elder allers takes notice;
the folks in the wing pews allers gapes an' stares, and the choir peeks
through the curtain, takin' notes of everything you've got on your back.
I hope to the land they'll chord and keep together