We sometimes walked in the burying ground among dead Williamses, while he argued down my claims, leaving them without a leg to stand on.  Reversing the usual ministerial formula, “If what has been said is true, then it follows, first, secondly,” and so on, he used to say: 

“Eleazar, you were brought up among the Indians, conscious only of bodily existence, and unconscious of your origin; granted.  Money was sent—­let us say from Europe—­for your support; granted.  Several persons, among them one who testified strongly against his will, told you that you resembled the Bourbons; granted.  You bear on your person marks like those which were inflicted on the unfortunate dauphin of France; granted.  You were malignantly pursued while abroad; granted.  But what does it all prove?  Nothing.  It amounts simply to this:  you know nothing about your early years; some foreign person—­perhaps an English Williams—­kindly interested himself in your upbringing; you were probably scalded in the camps; you have some accidental traits of the Bourbons; a man who heard you had a larger pension than the idiot he was tending, disliked you.  You can prove nothing more.”

I never attempted to prove anything more to Pastor Storrs.  It would have been most ungrateful to persuade him I was an alien.  At the same time he prophesied his hopes of me, and many a judicious person blamed him for treating me as something out of the ordinary, and cockering up pride.

A blunter Williams used to take me by the button on the street.

“Eleazar Williams,” he would say, “do you pretend to be the son of the French king?  I tell you what!  I will not let the name of Williams be disgraced by any relationship to any French monarch!  You must do one of two things:  you must either renounce Williamsism or renounce Bourbonism!”

Though there was liberty of conscience to criticise the pastor, he was autocrat of Longmeadow.  One who preceded Pastor Storrs had it told about him that two of his deacons wanted him to appoint Ruling Elders.  He appointed them; and asked them what they thought the duties were.  They said he knew best.

“Well,” said the pastor, “one of the Ruling Elders may come to my house before meeting, saddle my horse, and hold the stirrup while I get on.  The other may wait at the church door and hold him while I get off, and after meeting bring him to the steps.  This is all of my work that I can consent to let Ruling Elders do for me.”

The Longmeadow love of disputation was fostered by bouts which Ruling Elders might have made it their business to preserve, if any Ruling Elders were willing to accept their appointment.  The pastor once went to the next town to enjoy argument with a scientific doctor.  When he mounted his horse to ride home before nightfall the two friends kept up their debate.  The doctor stood by the horse, or walked a few steps as the horse moved.  Presently both men noticed a fire in the east; and it was sunrise.  They had argued all night.