oy. It 's thanks enough to hear them words from you. Now you
jest calm yoreself, an' when Sunday comes--I don't know as I 'd ought to
say it this way, but I mean it all in a Christian sperrit--when Sunday
comes, Freddie, my boy, you jest go in an' give 'em fits."

The two parted with another pressure of the hand, and it must be
confessed that the old man looked a little bit sheepish when his wife
hoped he had been giving Fred good advice.

"You don't reckon, Hester, that I 'd give him any other kind, do you?"

"Not intentionally, 'Liphalet; but when it comes to advice, there 's
p'ints o' view." Mrs. Hodges seemed suspicious of her husband's
capabilities as an adviser.

"There 's some times when people 'd a good deal ruther have sympathy
than advice."

"An' I reckon, 'cordin' to yore way o' thinkin' this is one o' them.
Well, I intend to try to do my dooty in this matter, as I 've tried to
do it all along."

"Hester, yore dooty 'll kill you yit. It 's a wonder you don't git
tired a-lookin' it in the face."

"I ain't a-goin' to shirk it, jest to live in pleasure an' ease."

"No need o' shirkin', Hester, no need o' shirkin'; but they 's some
people that would n't be content without rowin' down stream."

"An' then, mind you, 'Liphalet, I ain't a-exchangin' words with you, fur
that 's idleness, but there 's others, that would n't row up stream, but
'ud wait an' hope fur a wind to push 'em." These impersonalities were as
near "spatting" as Mr. and Mrs. Hodges ever got.

Through all the community that clustered about Mr. Simpson's church and
drew its thoughts, ideas, and subjects of gossip therefrom, ran like
wildfire the news that at last they were to have a chance to judge of
young Brent's merits for themselves. It caused a stir among old and
young, and in the days preceding the memorable Sunday little else was
talked of.

When it reached the ears of old Dan'l Hastings, who limped around now
upon two canes, but was as acrimonious as ever, he exclaimed, tapping
the ground with one of his sticks for emphasis, "What! that young Brent
preachin' in our church, in our minister's pulpit! It 's a shame,--an'
he the born son of old Tom Brent, that all the town knows was the worst
sinner hereabouts. I ain't a-goin' to go; I ain't a-goin' to go."

"Don't you be afeared to go, Dan'l: there ain't no danger that his
docterns air a-goin' to be as strong as his father's whisky," said his
old enemy.

"Oh, it 's fur the likes