“I ain’t so blind yet as not to know a Gay when I see one,” said the labourer, with a sly chuckle.  “If I hadn’t closed the eyes of old Mr. Jonathan when he was found dead over yonder by the Poplar Spring, I’d as soon as not take my Bible oath that he’d come young agin an’ was ridin’ along back to Jordan’s Journey.”

“Do you believe down here that my uncle killed himself?” asked the young man, with a furtive displeasure in his voice, as if he alluded to a disagreeable subject in response to some pressure of duty.

“’Tis as it may be, suh, I can’t answer for that.  To this day if you get Solomon Hatch or Betsey Bottom, (axin’ her pardon for puttin’ her last), started on the subject they’ll contend till they’re blue in the face that ’twas naught done but pure murder.  However, I’m too old at my time of life to take up with any opinion that ain’t pleasant to think on, an’, when all’s said an’ done, pure murder ain’t a peaceable, comfortable kind of thing to believe in when thar’s only one Justice of the Peace an’ he bed-ridden since Christmas.  When you ax me to pin my faith on any p’int, be it for this world or the next, my first question consarnin’ it is whether that particular p’int happens to be pleasant.  ’Tis that little small argyment of mine that has confounded Mr. Mullen more than once, when he meets me on equal ground outside the pulpit.  ’Mebbe ‘tis an’ mebbe ‘tisn’t,’ as I remarked sociably to him about the matter of eternal damnation, ‘but you can’t deny, can you, suh, bein’ outside the pulpit an’ bound to speak the truth like the rest of us, that you sleep a long sight easier in yo’ bed when you say to yo’self that mebbe ‘tisn’t?’”

“You see pa’s old, an’ he won’t harbour any belief at his time of life that don’t let him rest comfortable,” remarked young Adam, in an apologetic aside.  “It’s that weakness of his that keeps him from bein’ a thorough goin’ good Christian.”

“That strange young clergyman has stirred us all up about the doctrines,” said Solomon Hatch.  “He’s opened Old Church agin, an’ he works terrible hard to make us feel that we’d rather be sprinkled on the head than go under all over.  A nice-mannered man he is, with a pretty face, an’ some folks hold it to be a pity that we can’t change our ideas about baptism and become Episcopals in our hearts, jest to oblige him.  The women have, mostly, bein’ an accommodatin’ sex in the main, with the exception of Mrs. Mallory, the blacksmith’s mother, who declars she’d rather give up eternal damnation any day than immersion.”

“I ain’t goin’ so fur as that,” rejoined old Adam, “an’ mo’over, when it comes to the p’int, I’ve never found any uncommon comfort in either conviction in time of trouble.  I go to Mr. Mullen’s church regular every Sunday, seein’ the Baptist one is ten miles off an’ the road heavy, but in my opinion he’s a bit too zealous to turn over the notions of the prophets an’ set up his own.  He’s at the age when a man knows everything on earth an’ generally knows it wrong.”