ld was en route for the place of worship. On chairs in the wagon
drawn by two stout farm horses sat Mr. and Mrs. Rogers and the four
youngest children, while young Dudley, Henry and Susan rode horseback.
Uncle Tony, by reason of age, and Aunt Dink, by reason of flesh,
instead of walking with the other negroes, were allowed to sit on the
straw-covered floor of the wagon behind the white occupants.

As the cavalcade neared the church, a big, weather-stained log
structure, they saw that, early as it was, a crowd had preceded them.
Other wagons were stationed about in the shade, and many horses were
tethered to overhanging boughs.

While waiting for service to begin, Abner stood near the church and
looked around with some curiosity and not a little surprise; for nearly
every grade of frontier society seemed represented--aristocrats and
adventurers; mistresses and slaves; farmers and land agents;
ex-Revolutionary officers and ex-Indian-fighters; lately established
settlers and weather-beaten survivors of early pioneer days.

"Visiting together" near the woman's entrance were a number of matrons,
some in homespun gowns, calico split bonnets and cowhide shoes; others
in more pretentious apparel--bombazine gowns, muslin tuckers, and
"dress bonnets" of surprising depth and magnitude. Near the other
entrance, comparing notes upon fall wheat-sowing or corn-gathering, was
a cluster of farmers in shirt sleeves, homespun trousers and
well-greased shoes. Upon the horse-block a group of merry belles,
divesting themselves of mud-stained riding-skirts, stood forth in
bright array--beads and ribands, flaunting chintzes, clocked stockings
and morocco slippers. Some distance off, upon the roots of a
wide-spreading elm, sat two barefooted, swarthy, scarred old hunters
with raccoon skin caps, linsey hunting-shirts and buckskin breeches.
Near by, a group of urchins listened with open-mouthed absorption to
blood-curdling reminiscences of days when upon this now peaceful slope
the scream of the wildcat and the whoop of the Indian were more
familiar sounds than the songs of Zion and the eloquence of the
revivalist. Less in accord with the quiet beauty of this October
Sunday, a squad of loud-voiced, swaggering, half-intoxicated young men
lounged under the trees, recounting incidents of yesterday's cock-fight
or betting upon the wrestling-match next muster day.

In contrast to the other vehicles, the Gilcrest family coach, with its
span of glos