he should not follow, but he was not to be found; and in the course of ten minutes he would be trotting after his master as composedly as if nothing had ever happened to interrupt their friendly relations.  It was impossible to resist such persevering affection, and at length Mr. Hardwick gave up the contest, and allowed Caesar to travel when and where he chose.  But on Sunday he sat on the front-door step, erect upon his haunches, with one ear dropping forward, and the other upright like the point of a starched shirt-collar; and though on week-days he was fond of paying the usual courtesies to his canine acquaintances, and (if the truth must be told) of barking at strange horses occasionally, yet nothing could induce him either to follow any of the family, or accost a dog, or chase after foreign vehicles, on the day of rest.  Once only he forgot what was due to his character, and gave a few yelps in holy time.  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 table reading, a long growl was heard from Caesar at the door, followed by an emphatic “Get out!” The growls grew fiercer, and James went to the door to see what was