e chickens swimming in gravy; there were the onions and the
turnips, and I was sure Sister Scrub had gratified her ambition for
once. We sat down, and a blessing was asked; instantly the good sister
began; she was afraid her coffee was too much burned, or that the
water had been smoked, or that she hadn't roasted the chicken enough.
There ought to have been some salad, and it was too bad that there was
nothing nice to offer us.

We, of course, endured those unjustifiable apologies as well as the
could, simply remarking that everything was really nice, and proving
by our acts that the repast was tempting to our appetites.

I will now introduce another actor to the reader--Elder Blunt, the
circuit preacher. Elder Blunt was a good man. His religion was of the
most genuine, experimental kind. He was a _very_ plain man. He, like
Mr. Wesley, would no more dare to preach a _fine_ sermon than wear a
fine coat. He was celebrated for his common-sense way of exhibiting
the principles of religion. He _would_ speak just what he thought, and
as he felt. He somehow got the name of being an eccentric preacher, as
every man, I believe, does who _never_ prevaricates, and always acts
and speaks as he thinks. Somehow or other, Elder Blunt had heard of
Sister Scrub, and that infirmity of hers, and he resolved to cure
her. On his first round he stopped at "Squire Scrub's," as all other
itinerants had done before him. John, the young man, took the elder's
horse and put him in the stable, and the preacher entered the house.
He was shown into the best room, and soon felt very much at home. He
expected to hear something in due time disparaging the domestic
arrangements, but he heard it sooner than he expected. This time, if
Sister Scrub could be credited, her house was all upside down; it
wasn't fit to stay in, and she was sadly mortified to be caught in
such a plight. The elder looked all around the room, as if to observe
the terrible disorder, but he said not a word. By-and-by the dinner
was ready, and the elder sat down with the family to a well spread
table. Here, again, Sister Scrub found everything faulty; the coffee
wasn't fit to drink, and she hadn't anything fit to eat. The elder
lifted his dark eye to her face; for a moment he seemed to penetrate
her very soul with his austere gaze; then slowly rising from the
table, he said, "Brother Scrub, I want my horse immediately; I must
leave!"

"Why, Brother Blunt, what is the matter?"

"M