“The’ ‘ll be more o’ your kind o’ folk ’round, come summer,” he said; and then, on a second thought, “you’re ’Piscopal, ain’t ye?”

“I have always attended that service,” replied John, smiling, “and I have gone to St. James’s here nearly every Sunday.”

“Hain’t they taken any notice of ye?” asked David.

“Mr. Euston, the rector, called upon me,” said John, “but I have made no further acquaintances.”

“E-um’m!” said David, and, after a moment, in a sort of confidential tone, “Do you like goin’ to church?” he asked.

“Well,” said John, “that depends—­yes, I think I do.  I think it is the proper thing,” he concluded weakly.

“Depends some on how a feller’s ben brought up, don’t ye think so?” said David.

“I should think it very likely,” John assented, struggling manfully with a yawn.

“I guess that’s about my case,” remarked Mr. Harum, “an’ I sh’d have to admit that I ain’t much of a hand fer church-goin’.  Polly has the princ’pal charge of that branch of the bus’nis, an’ the one I stay away from, when I don’t go,” he said with a grin, “’s the Prespyteriun.”  John laughed.

“No, sir,” said David, “I ain’t much of a hand for’t.  Polly used to worry at me about it till I fin’ly says to her, ‘Polly,’ I says, ’I’ll tell ye what I’ll do.  I’ll compermise with ye,’ I says.  ’I won’t undertake to foller right along in your track—­I hain’t got the req’sit speed,’ I says, ’but f’m now on I’ll go to church reg’lar on Thanksgivin’.’  It was putty near Thanksgivin’ time,” he remarked, “an’ I dunno but she thought if she c’d git me started I’d finish the heat, an’ so we fixed it at that.”

“Of course,” said John with a laugh, “you kept your promise?”

“Wa’al, sir,” declared David with the utmost gravity, “fer the next five years I never missed attendin’ church on Thanksgivin’ day but four times; but after that,” he added, “I had to beg off.  It was too much of a strain,” he declared with a chuckle, “an’ it took more time ’n Polly c’d really afford to git me ready.”  And so he rambled on upon such topics as suggested themselves to his mind, or in reply to his auditor’s comments and questions, which were, indeed, more perfunctory than otherwise.  For the Verjooses, the Rogerses, the Swaynes, and the rest, were people whom John not only did not know, but whom he neither expected nor cared to know; and so his present interest in them was extremely small.

Outside of his regular occupations, and despite the improvement in his domestic environment, life was so dull for him that he could not imagine its ever being otherwise in Homeville.  It was a year since the world—­his world—­had come to an end, and though his sensations of loss and defeat had passed the acute stage, his mind was far from healthy.  He had evaded David’s question, or only half answered it, when he merely replied that the rector had called upon him.  The truth was that some