"Well, he can't seem to get along, somehow. He used to belong to the Baptist Church, but he got out o' that. Then he went to a church up in Graylock, but he had a fallin' out up there. Then he went to Northfield and Eustis. He's been all around, even over on Long Island. He goes to church up at Amherst now, I believe."
"What seems to be the trouble?"
"Oh, he's just strong-headed, I guess." He paused, and ideas lagged until finally I observed:
"It's a very interesting store he keeps."
"It's just as Billy Drumgold told him once: 'Burridge,' he says, 'you've got everything in this store that belongs to a full-rigged ship 'cept one thing.' 'What's that?' Burridge asks. 'A second-hand pulpit.' 'Got that too,' he answered, and takes him upstairs, and there he had one sure enough."
"Well," I said, "what was he doing with it?"
"Danged if I know. He had it all right. Has it yet, so they say."
Days passed and as the summer waned the evidences of a peculiar life accumulated. Noank, apparently, was at outs with Burridge on the subject of religion, and he with it. There were instances of genuine hard feeling against him.
Writing a letter in the Postoffice one day I ventured to take up this matter with the postmaster.
"You know Mr. Burridge, don't you—the grocer?"