et under the seat as she hummingly commits her lesson
to memory, and as her feet are very pretty, they do not perhaps move
unconsciously. But Josh and we have quite a battle as to Margot, Josh
saying, "She's my girl," and we averring that "we know better--she's
mine," until finally our sister disposes of the matter by betraying us
to the little coquette, whereat we are both ashamed, and go home
hastily.

We feed and curry the horse by turns, and hunt eggs in the stable
with boisterous rivalry, and have quite a contest as to who shall go
down upon "the circuit" first, which is at last settled in favor of
the first person.

On the appointed Sunday we rise betimes, "gear up" the nag to the
sulky, and depositing a carpet-stool in the foot, sit upon it between
our father's legs, and trot out of town at a respectably slow gait to
clear the preacher of any suspicion of keeping a fast horse. Fairly
out of town, however, we switch up somewhat, ourself watching over the
dasher the clods and dust thrown from the mare's shoes, and our father
humming snatches of hymns, with his grave eyes twinkling.

We say "How de do," of course, to every passer-by, as it is the pride
of the profession to lead the etiquette of the country; and, passing
remarks upon the badness of the fences, the staunchness of the barns,
and the coziness of the dwellings, soon leave the cultivated high-road
for one of the by-ways which lead down the sparsely-settled "Neck."
The sombre pine forests gather about us; a squirrel or two runs across
the route, and a solitary crow caws in the tree-top; we hear the loud
"tap-tap-tap" of a woodpecker, and see through the sinuous aisles of
firs some groups of negroes pattering to church. The men take off
their hats obsequiously, and the women duck their heads, and our
father says benignantly, "Going to church, boys? that's right! I like
to see you honor the Great Master!" At which the younger Africans show
their teeth, and the more forward patriarchs reply, "Yes, massar,
bress de Lord!"

So the teams increase in number like the wayfarers, all with the same
object in view, until we see the church at last, standing behind a
line of whitewashed palings, flanked by less pretentious worm fences,
and in the rear a long shed for horses, open in front, shadows the few
tomb memorials of stone and stake.

Several lads and worldlings at the gate, slashing their boots with
riding-whips, make obeisance, while two or three plain old