But James, with a glance at his father, who was stoutly orthodox, averred
that Caesar's conduct was justifiable, inasmuch as the man he barked at
was one of a band of new-light fanatics who worshipped in the school-
house, and the horse, moreover, was not shod at a respectable place, but
at a tinker's shop in the verge of the township. A dog with such powers of
discrimination certainly merits a place in this true history.

The services of Sunday were finished. Those who, with dill and caraway,
had vainly struggled against drowsiness, had waked up with a jerk at the
benediction, and moved with their neighbors along the aisles, a slow and
sluggish stream. The nearest friends passed out side by side with meekly
composed faces, and without greeting each other until they reached the
vestibule. So slow and solemn was the progress out of church, that merry
James Hardwick averred that he saw Deacon Stone, a short fat man, actually
dozing, his eyes softly shutting and opening like a hen's, as he was borne
along by the crowd. The Deacon had been known to sleep while he stood up
in his pew during prayer, but perhaps James's story was rather apocryphal.

Mark Davenport, of course, had been the object of considerable attention
during the day, and at the meeting-house-door numbers of his old
acquaintances gathered round him. No one was more cordial in manner than
Squire Clamp. His face was wrinkled into what were meant for smiles, and
his voice was even smoother and more insinuating than usual. It was only
by a strong effort that Mark gulped down his rising indignation, and
replied civilly.

Sunday in Innisfield ended at sunset, though labor was not resumed until
the next day; but neighbors called upon each other in the twilight, and
talked over the sermons of the day, and the affairs of the church and
parish. That evening, while Mr. Hardwick's family were sitting around the