When William made his appearance in the sitting room, he was greeted by his brother with, “How are you, Bill?  Hope you slept better than I did, for ‘pears like I couldn’t get asleep nohow, till toward mornin’ and then I was mighty skeary about wakin’ up, for fear I should find it all moonshine, and no Bill here after all.”  After a moment’s pause, he added, “Whar’s t’other chap?  If he don’t come down directly, the hen’ll spile, for Judy’s had it ready better than half an hour.”

Ashton soon appeared, and the party did ample justice to Aunt Judy’s well-cooked breakfast.  That meal being over, Mr. Middleton said, “Now, boys, what do you say to goin’ to meetin’?  The Baptists have preachin’, and I’ve a mind to go.  How the folk’ll stare though to see Bill.  Say, will you go?”

The gentlemen signified their assent, and at the usual hour they proceeded to the church, which was situated about two miles from Mr. Middleton’s.  We are sorry for it, but truth compels us to say that on this day Uncle Joshua was not quite as devotional as usual.  He was looking over the congregation to see what effect his brother’s presence was producing.  When he saw that no one exclaimed or turned pale, and that even the minister kept on the even tenor of his discourse, he inwardly accused them all of being “doughheads,” and wondered he had never before discovered how little they knew.  However, when meeting was over, the neighbors crowded around the old man, congratulating him on the unexpected return of his brother, whom they welcomed so warmly that Uncle Joshua began to think he had been too hasty in condemning them, for “after all, they knew a heap.”

That night, after supper, Mr. Middleton was again seated in the little porch with his guests.  They had been speaking of the sermon they had heard, when Mr. Middleton said, “That’s the right kind of meetin’ to my notion.  A feller can sleep a bit if he feels like it; but whar my gals go, in Frankford, they have the queerest doin’s—­keep a gittin’ up and sittin’ down; ’pears like you don’t moren’t git fairly sot afore you have to hist up again, and you can’t sleep to save you.  Then they have streaked yaller and black prar books and keep a-readin’ all meetin’ time.”

“Do your daughters prefer that church?” asked William.

“Why, yes,” returned his brother; “or, that is, Dick, poor boy Dick, belonged thar; so did the young Leftenant Carrington; so does Dr. Lacey; and that’s reason enough why Sunshine should prefer it.  Tempest goes thar, I reckon, because its fashionable, and she can have a nice prar-book to show.  You ought to see the one I bought for Sunshine.  It’s all velvety, and has gold clasps, with jest the word ‘Sunshine’ writ on it.  Tempest has got a more common one.  It didn’t cost half as much.”

“I notice that you make quite a distinction between your daughters,” said William.  “May I ask why you do it?”

Mr. Middleton stopped smoking and said, “If you please, Bill, I’d rather say nothin’ about that now.  I make it a rule never to swar Sundays, and if I got to goin’ it about Tempest and the way she used poor Dick, I should have to swar and no mistake.  Mebby you think I’d better not swar any time.”