marriage.

CHAPTER XXXII.

HARVEST SUNDAY.

October was come again, the poetry of summer had almost departed, and it
was a quiet Sunday morning in the country. The bell on the little old
church by the hillside, at Nyack, was calling the plodding Dutch
settlers to morning service. The hard, hollow sounds of the old bell
echoed harshly over the hills, and yet there was something in its
familiar sounds, and the quiet pastoral scenes it was associated with,
that always moved our feelings, and prompted us to give them a pleasant
resting place in our love.

Cattle were resting in the fields, and their yokes hung on the gate
posts that day. A soft, Indian-summer glow hung with transparent effect
over the landscape; and a gentle wind whispered lovingly over the Tappan
Zee. Autumn, too, had hung the trees in her brightest colors.

It was Harvest Sunday, a sort of festive resting-day with the Dutch
settlers, who had gathered about the little church in great numbers,
young and old, all dressed in their simple but neat attire. Others were
quietly wending their way thitherward, along the lanes and through the
fields. There they gathered about the little old church, a smiling,
happy, and contented people, and waited for the Dominie, for it was
their custom to meet him at the church door, and after exchanging
greetings, follow him like a loving flock into their seats.

The Dominie was to preach his harvest sermon, and his flock was to join
him in giving thanks to God for the bounties He had bestowed upon them.
He had, indeed, blessed them with an abundant harvest that year; and now
they had come to thank Him and be joyful. Conspicuous in the group was
the little snuffy doctor, Critchel, looking happy among the people whose
ills he had administered to for half a century. On Harvest-Sunday he
could kiss and caress the bright faced little children he had helped
bring into the world as fondly as a young mother. There, too, was the
schoolmaster, with his ruddy face and his seedy clothes, ready to do his
part in making Harvest-Sunday pass pleasantly, for indeed the crop was a
matter of importance with him. And there was Titus Bright, for the merry
little inn-keeper would have considered such a gathering incomplete
without him. Titus was not so well thought of by the Dutch settlers
since he gave up his little tavern for a big one, and had taken to
boarding fine folks from the city.

And now the appearance of Hanz and Angeline