he same state of mind and nothing
doubting, followed their leader with all their strength, according to
custom. They poured out that there tune till the lower bass notes of
"The Devil among the Tailors" made the cobwebs in the roof shiver like
ghosts; then Nicholas, seeing nobody moved, shouted out as he scraped (in
his usual commanding way at dances when the folk didn't know the
figures), "Top couples cross hands! And when I make the fiddle squeak at
the end, every man kiss his pardner under the mistletoe!"

'The boy Levi was so frightened that he bolted down the gallery stairs
and out homeward like lightning. The pa'son's hair fairly stood on end
when he heard the evil tune raging through the church, and thinking the
choir had gone crazy he held up his hand and said: "Stop, stop, stop!
Stop, stop! What's this?" But they didn't hear'n for the noise of their
own playing, and the more he called the louder they played.

'Then the folks came out of their pews, wondering down to the ground, and
saying: "What do they mean by such wickedness! We shall be consumed like
Sodom and Gomorrah!"

'Then the squire came out of his pew lined wi' green baize, where lots of
lords and ladies visiting at the house were worshipping along with him,
and went and stood in front of the gallery, and shook his fist in the
musicians' faces, saying, "What! In this reverent edifice! What!"

'And at last they heard'n through their playing, and stopped.

'"Never such an insulting, disgraceful thing--never!" says the squire,
who couldn't rule his passion.

'"Never!" says the pa'son, who had come down and stood beside him.

'"Not if the Angels of Heaven," says the squire (he was a wickedish man,
the squire was, though now for once he happened to be on the Lord's
side)--"not if the Angels of Heaven come down," he says, "shall one of
you villanous players ever sound a note in this church again; for the
insult to me, and my family, and my visitors, and God Almighty, that
you've a-perpetrated this afternoon!"

'Then the unfortunate church band came to their senses, and remembered
where they were; and 'twas a sight to see Nicholas Pudding come and
Timothy Thomas and John Biles creep down the gallery stairs with their
fiddles under their arms, and poor Dan'l Hornhead with his serpent, and
Robert Dowdle with his clarionet, all looking as little as ninepins; and
out they went. The pa'son might have forgi'ed 'em when he learned the
truth o't, bu