"I can't help myself. I've got to make the best on't," said Zeph, trying to out-walk him.
"But you know——"
"Let me alone, can't ye?" cried Zeph in a voice of thunder; and the Deacon, scared and subdued, dropped behind, murmuring, "Drefful state o' mind! poor critter, so unreconciled!—really awful!"
[CHAPTER XXVIII.]
DOLLY AT THE WICKET GATE.
The next Sunday rose calm and quiet over the hills of Poganuc.
There was something almost preternatural in the sense of stillness and utter repose which the Sabbath day used to bring with it in those early times. The absolute rest from every earthly employment, the withholding even of conversation from temporal things, marked it off from all other days. To the truly devout the effect was something the same as if the time had been spent in heaven.