“There wa'n't a better minister, nor no one more set by in all the State, than Parson Morrel. His doctrines was right up and down, good and sharp; and he give saints and sinners their meat in due season; and for consolin' and comfortin' widders and orphans, Parson Morrel hedn't his match. The women sot lots by him; and he was allus' ready to take tea round, and make things pleasant and comfortable; and he hed a good story for every one, and a word for the children, and maybe an apple or a cookey in his pocket for 'em. Wal, you know there an't no pleasin' everybody; and ef Gabriel himself, right down out o' heaven, was to come and be a minister, I expect there'd be a pickin' at his wings, and sort o' fault-findin'. Now, Aunt Jerushy Scran and Aunt Polly Hokun they sed Parson Morrel wa'n't solemn enough. Ye see, there's them that thinks that a minister ought to be jest like the town hearse, so that ye think of death, judgment, and eternity, and nothin' else, when ye see him round; and ef they see a man rosy and chipper, and hevin' a pretty nice, sociable sort of a time, why they say he an't spiritooal minded. But, in my times, I've seen ministers the most awakenin' kind in the pulpit that was the liveliest when they was out on't. There is a time to laugh, Scriptur' says; tho' some folks never seem to remember that 'are.”
“But, Sam, how came you to say it was Ike Babbit's fault? What was it about the sheep?”
“Oh, wal, yis! I'm a comin' to that 'are. It was all about them sheep. I expect they was the instrument the Devil sot to work to tempt Parson Morrel to laugh in prayer-time.
“Ye see, there was old Dick, Ike's bell-wether, was the fightin'est old crittur that ever yer see. Why, Dick would butt at his own shadder; and everybody said it was a shame the old crittur should be left to run loose, 'cause he run at the children, and scared the women half out their wits. Wal, I used to live out in that parish in them days. And Lem Sudoc and I used to go out sparkin' Sunday nights, to see the Larkin gals; and we had to go right 'cross the lot where Dick was: so we used to go and stand at the fence, and call. And Dick would see us, and put down his head, and run at us full chisel, and come bunt agin the fence; and then I'd ketch him by the horns, and hold him while Lem run and got over the fence t'other side the lot; and then I'd let go: and Lem would holler, and shake a stick at him, and away he'd go full butt at Lem; and Lem would ketch his horns, and hold him till I came over,—that was the way we managed Dick; but, I tell you, ef he come sudden up behind a fellow, he'd give him a butt in the small of his back that would make him run on all fours one while. He was a great rogue,—Dick was. Wal, that summer, I remember they hed old Deacon Titkins for tithing-man; and I tell you he give it to the boys lively. There wa'n't no sleepin' nor no playin'; for the deacon hed eyes like a gimblet, and he was quick as a cat, and the youngsters hed to look out for themselves. It did really seem as if the deacon was like them four beasts in the Revelations that was full o' eyes behind and before; for which ever way he was standin', if you gave only a wink, he was down on you, and hit you a tap with his stick. I know once Lem Sudoc jist wrote two words in the psalm-book and passed to Kesiah Larkin; and the deacon give him such a tap that Lem grew red as a beet, and vowed he'd be up with him some day for that.
“Well, Lordy Massy, folks that is so chipper and high steppin' has to hev their come downs; and the deacon he hed to hev his.
“That 'are Sunday,—I 'member it now jest as well as if 'twas yesterday,—the parson he give us his gre't sermon, reconcilin' decrees and free agency: everybody said that 'are sermon was a masterpiece. He preached it up to Cambridge at Commencement, that year. Wal, it so happened it was one o' them bilin' hot days that come in August, when you can fairly hear the huckleberries a sizzlin', and cookin' on the bushes, and the locust keeps a gratin' like a red-hot saw. Wal, such times, decrees or no decrees, the best on us will get sleepy. The old meetin'-house stood right down at the foot of a hill that kep' off all the wind; and the sun blazed away at them gre't west winders: and there was pretty sleepy times there. Wal, the deacon, he flew round a spell, and woke up the children, and tapped the boys on the head, and kep' every thing straight as he could, till the sermon was most through, when he railly got most tuckered out; and he took a chair, and he sot down in the door right opposite the minister, and fairly got asleep himself, jest as the minister got up to make the last prayer.
“Wal, Parson Morrel hed a way o' prayin' with his eyes open. Folks said it wa'n't the best way: but it was Parson Morrel's way, anyhow; and so, as he was prayin', he couldn't help seein' that Deacon Tit-kins was a noddin' and a bobbin' out toward the place where old Dick was feedin' with the sheep, front o' the meetin'-house door.
“Lem and me we was sittin' where we could look out; and we jest sees old Dick stop feedin' and look at the deacon. The deacon hed a little round head as smooth as an apple, with a nice powdered wig on it: and he sot there makin' bobs and bows; and Dick begun to think it was suthin sort o' pussonal. Lem and me was sittin' jest where we could look out and see the hull picter; and Lem was fit to split.
“'Good, now,' says he: 'that crittur 'll pay the deacon off lively, pretty soon.'
“The deacon bobbed his head a spell; and old Dick he shook his horns, and stamped at him sort o' threat-nin'. Finally the deacon he give a great bow, and brought his head right down at him; and old Dick he sot out full tilt and come down on him ker chunk, and knocked him head over heels into the broad aisle: and his wig flew one way and he t'other; and Dick made a lunge at it, as it flew, and carried it off on his horns.