“P’raps his mother kind o’ vaccinated him with religion ‘stid o’ leavin’ him to take it the natural way, as the ol’ sayin’ is,” was her husband’s response.  “The first Mis’ Larrabee was as good as gold, but she may have overdone the trick a little mite, mebbe; and what’s more, I kind o’ suspicion the parson thinks so himself.  He ain’t never been quite the same sence Dick left home, ‘cept in preaching’; an’ I tell you, Maria, his high-water mark there is higher ‘n ever.  Abel Dunn o’ Boston walked home from meetin’ with me Thanksgivin’, an’, says he, takin’ off his hat an’ moppin’ his forehead, ‘Osh,’ says he, ’does your minister preach like that every Sunday?’ ‘No,’ says I, ’he don’t.  If he did we couldn’t stan’ it!  He preaches like that about once a month, an’ we don’t care what he says the rest o’ the time.’”

“Well, so far as boys are concerned, preachin’ ain’t so reliable, for behavin’ purposes, as a good young alder switch,” was the opinion of Mrs. Popham, her children being of the comatose kind, whose minds had never been illuminated by the dazzling idea of disobedience.

“Land sakes, Maria!  There ain’t alders enough on the river-bank to switch religion into a boy like Dick Larrabee.  It’s got to come like a thief in the night, as the ol’ sayin’ is, but I guess I don’t mean thief, I guess I mean star:  it’s got to come kind o’ like a star in a dark night.  If the whole village, ‘generate an’ onregenerate, hadn’t ‘a’ kep’ on naggin’ an’ hectorin’ an’ criticizin’ them two boys, Dick an’ Dave,—­carryin’ tales an’ multiplyin’ of ’em by two, ‘ong root’ as the ol’ sayin’ is,—­I dare say they’d ‘a’ both been here yet; ’stid o’ roamin’ roun’ the earth seekin’ whom they may devour.”

There was considerable truth in Ossian Popham’s remark, as Letty could have testified; for the conduct of the Boynton-Gilman household, as well as that of the minister, had been continually under inspection and discussion.

Nothing could remain long hidden in Beulah.  Nobody spied, nobody pried, nobody listened at doors or windows, nobody owned a microscope, nobody took any particular notice of events, or if they did they preserved an attitude of profound indifference while doing it,—­yet everything was known sooner or later.  The amount of the fish and meat bill, the precise extent of credit, the number of letters in the post, the amount of fuel burned, the number of absences from church and prayer-meeting, the calls or visits made and received, the hours of arrival or departure, the source of all incomes,—­these details were the common property of the village.  It even took cognizance of more subtle things; for it observed and recorded the fluctuations of all love affairs, and the fluctuations also in the religious experiences of various persons not always in spiritual equilibrium; for the soul was an object of scrutiny in Beulah, as well as mind, body, and estate.

Letty Boynton used to feel that nothing was exclusively her own; that she belonged to Beulah part and parcel; but Dick Larrabee was far more restive under the village espionage than were she and David.