subjects, including
their opinions of Mr. Webber, and if that worthy could have heard what
they said it might have reduced his bumptiousness just a trifle. Liddy
also assured the boy that she did not care a row of pins for Jim White,
and considered him too awfully stuck up for endurance, all of which,
mingled with a few sweet smiles, caused our young friend to feel that
his future life at the academy might be pleasanter for him.

CHAPTER VII.

LIDDY.

In one of the New England States, and occupying a beautiful valley
between two low ranges of mountains, was the town of Southton. One of
these ranges, that on the east, was known as the Blue Hills; the other
was nameless. This valley was about four miles in width, and winding
through it ran a small river. On the banks of this, and nearly in the
center of the town, was a village, or "town center," as it was called,
containing two churches, an academy and several stores. In one of these
churches, Rev. Jonas Jotham expounded the orthodox Congregational faith,
including predestination, foreordination, and all creation, and in the
other Rev. Samuel Wetmore argued on the same lines, clinching them all
with the necessity of total immersion as a means of salvation.

There was no affiliation between the two sects, each declaring the other
totally blind to Scriptural truths; wrong in all points of creed, and
sure to be damned for it. Sectarian feeling was strong, social lines
between the two churches were sharply drawn, and the enmities of feeling
engendered in the pulpits were reflected among the members. Each worthy
dominie emitted long sermons every Sunday, often extending to
"seventeenthly," while occasionally a few of the good deacons slept; and
so, year after year, the windy war continued.

In the meantime the children attended school, played hard, were happy,
grew up, courted, married, and kept on farming, and life in Southton
flowed onward as peacefully as the current of the river that meandered
through it.

Near the eastern border, and beside a merry brook that tumbled down from
the Blue Hill range, was the home of Loring Camp, his wife, and his only
daughter, Liddy. He was not a member of either of the two orthodox
churches, but a fearless, independent thinker, believing in a merciful
God of love and forgiveness, rather than a Calvinistic one, and who
might be classed as a Unitarian in opinion. Broad-chested, broad-minded,
outspoken in his ways, he was at o