CHAPTER VII.
"When the devil was well,
The devil a saint was he."
Jack sat, one evening, on a horse-block just outside the front gate, contemplating the evening star and such of its companions as were putting in their respective appearances. He was attired rather more carefully than was considered necessary for a Doveton boy on any day but Sunday, and his countenance was in keeping with his garb; while his hair was brushed to a degree of smoothness almost dandyish. Suddenly one-half of the Pinkshaw twins approached and asked Jack if he didn't feel like going that night to a meeting to be held by the German Methodists, who were holding a series of week-day evening services.
"I can't," said Jack. "We're expecting—expecting a visitor, and I must stay home to meet him."
"That's too bad," said the half of the Pinkshaw twins, scraping the dust into a heap with his bare feet, "for they've got old Vater Offenstein, all the way from New Munich, to do the exhorting, and they expect a great time."
"They are real good people, those German Methodists are," said Jack, "but you'll have to excuse me to-night. Get some other fellow to go with you."
"I can't," explained young Pinkshaw. "Nearly all the boys are going to a party at Billy Barker's sister's, but Billy and I don't speak since he traded me a dog that was given to fits, so I'm not going."
Jack sympathized with the Pinkshaw twin in his loneliness; besides, he did not know but some feeling stronger than mere curiosity was drawing the boy toward the church; certainly he, Jack, would never have divulged a religious feeling in any but a roundabout way. The church was but a five minutes' walk, and he could excuse himself and come away after the Pinkshaw twin became fairly interested. So he accompanied the boy, their direction being toward the sound of some very spirited singing, which could be distinctly heard above all other evening sounds. Arrived at the little church, Jack found that his companion would not have lacked congenial society even had he come alone, for in the back seats were already congregated several boys of respectable parentage, and a loafer or two besides, as well as half a dozen adults who frequently occupied back seats in churches. Jack would have retired at once, but the famous Vater Offenstein had just ascended the pulpit, removed his coat, laid it across the desk and opened the Bible, and Jack, who was just then full of sympathy with all believers of the Word, was anxious to observe the old man's method.