"The' 'll be more o' your kind o' folk 'round, come summer," he said; and then, on a second thought, "you're 'Piscopal, ain't ye?"
"I have always attended that service," replied John, smiling, "and I have gone to St. James's here nearly every Sunday."
"Hain't they taken any notice of ye?" asked David.
"Mr. Euston, the rector, called upon me," said John, "but I have made no further acquaintances."
"E-um'm!" said David, and, after a moment, in a sort of confidential tone, "Do you like goin' to church?" he asked.
"Well," said John, "that depends—yes, I think I do. I think it is the proper thing," he concluded weakly.
"Depends some on how a feller's ben brought up, don't ye think so?" said David.
"I should think it very likely," John assented, struggling manfully with a yawn.
"I guess that's about my case," remarked Mr. Harum, "an' I sh'd have to admit that I ain't much of a hand fer church-goin'. Polly has the princ'pal charge of that branch of the bus'nis, an' the one I stay away from, when I don't go," he said with a grin, "'s the Prespyteriun." John laughed.
"No, sir," said David, "I ain't much of a hand for't. Polly used to worry at me about it till I fin'ly says to her, 'Polly,' I says, 'I'll tell ye what I'll do. I'll compermise with ye,' I says. 'I won't undertake to foller right along in your track—I hain't got the req'sit speed,' I says, 'but f'm now on I'll go to church reg'lar on Thanksgivin'.' It was putty near Thanksgivin' time," he remarked, "an' I dunno but she thought if she c'd git me started I'd finish the heat, an' so we fixed it at that."