I had been a member of our old church three years, and while I desired to live a Christian life, I could never feel that a long face, and solemnly pronounced words made any difference in my real life.  Father did not believe any more in long faces than I did, still, I think from fear of neglecting any part of his duty, he maintained a serious demeanor from the break of our Sabbath days to their close.  He had an unusually beautiful way of asking a blessing that always gave me a happy feeling.  He merely said in a pleasant way, and with open eyes:  “We should be very thankful for this meal; may we have wisdom to prepare no unsavory dishes, and strength to earn for ourselves, and others if necessary, the bread we daily need.”  This gave us a thought (that never grew old with me) of the needs of our neighbor, and also seemed so rational, and fitted our needs so perfectly.  Aunt Hildy called it a common-sense blessing.  I remember well how she spoke of it, in contrast with Deacon Grover’s long-drawn-out table prayers, saying with emphasis; “The man, if he is a deacon, has a right to grow better, and we know he asks God to bless things cattle couldn’t eat.”

Christmas, we all went to church, and although it was more than a mile, aunt Hildy refused to ride.

“Let me walk as long as I can, time enough to ride by and by, and I’m only fifty-eight years old, Mr. Minot,” she said.

It was useless to urge her, and she came into church a few minutes later than we did, and sat in her own pew next ours.  This church was an old-time affair, having been built by the early settlers.  It had, as all those old churches had, square pews, a stove in its central portion with huge arms of pipe that stretched embracingly in all ways; and its pulpit was so high that I prevailed on father to sit back from the centre as far as we could and be comfortably warm, for it was breaking ones’ neck to look at the minister, and the sermon was half lost if you could not see the play of his features.  Our worship was of the Presbyterian order, and our present pastor a worthy man.  This was all the church that belonged to us really.  In the village which nestled in the valley two and a half miles south-west of us, like a child in the lap of its mother, there were three churches, Baptist, Methodist, and Presbyterian, and many who attended our old church would have liked better to go to one of those, and at times did so, but it was quite a ride in winter, and for this reason our church was better filled at this season than in the summer days.

A new branch of belief had latterly developed itself somewhat in our neighborhood, and this embraced the thought of universal salvation.  There had been meetings held at the houses of some of our friends, and once or twice mother and myself had attended.

The sermon on this Christmas day did me no good, for our minister chose for his subject false doctrines, and the pointed allusions and personalities savored greatly of a spirit that was not calculated to remind us of the humble Nazarene and his lowly spirit.