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“What kind of a man is the new preacher?” asked Mrs. Martin of her husband, on his return from meeting.

“He seemed like a very good sort of man,” replied Martin, indifferently.

“Is he young or old?”

“He’s about my age, I should think.”

“Married?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“No, I came away after the sermon.”

“Then you didn’t stop to class?”

“No.”

“Sister Russell was not there, of course?”

“No; she’s sick.”

“So I heard. The preacher didn’t stay at her house last night.”

“How do you know?”

“Mrs. Williams called in while you were away. She had just been to sister Russell’s.”

“And the new preacher didn’t stay at her house last night?”

“No. Mrs. Williams asked particularly.”

“He must have ridden over from S–this morning. I am sorry I didn’t wait and ask him to come home and stay with us.”

“I wish you had. Sister Russell is too sick to have him at her house, if he should go there. Who stayed to class-meeting?”

“Not over half a dozen, and they were all women. I left Bill Taylor and Harry Chester waiting outside for their wives.”

“They wouldn’t ask him home.”

“No; and if they did, I should be sorry to have him go there. I wish I had stayed in, and invited him home. But it can’t be helped now, and there’s no use in fretting over it.”

Soon after this, dinner was announced, and the farmer sat down with his family to a table loaded with good and substantial things. He ate and enjoyed himself; though not as highly as he would have done, had not thoughts of the new preacher intruded themselves.

After dinner, Martin took a comfortable nap, which lasted about an hour. He then went out and took a little walk to himself. While standing at the gate, which opened from his farm on to the county road, a man, who lived half a mile below, came along. This man was not a member of any church, and took some delight, at times, in having his jest with professors of religion.

“Fine afternoon, Mr. Ellis,” said Martin, as the man stopped.

“Very fine. How are you all?”

“Quite well. Any news stirring?”

“Why, no, not much. Only they say that the Methodists about here have all joined the Amalgamation Society.”

“Who says so?” inquired Martin, slightly colouring.

“Well, they say it down our way. I thought it was only a joke, at first. But a little while after dinner, Aunt Nancy’s Tom came over to my house for some oats and hay for your new minister’s horse. He said the preachers were going to stop at the old woman’s after this. I half-doubted the rascal’s story, though I let him have the provender. Sure enough, as I came along just now, who should I see but the preacher sitting before the door of old Nancy’s log-hut, as much at home as if his skin were the colour of ebony. These are rather queer doings, friend Martin; I don’t know what folks ‘ll say.”

We will not pause to describe the astonishment and confusion of Martin, on learning this, but step down to Aunt Nancy’s, where Odell, after dining on pork and hominy, with the addition of potatoes and corn-bread, was sitting in the shade before the log cabin of the old negro. The latter was busy as a bee inside in preparation of something for the preacher’s supper, that she thought would be more suited to his mode of living and appetite, than pork, corn-bread, and hominy.

Odell was rather more inclined to feel amused than annoyed at his new position. Aunt Nancy’s dinner had tasted very good; and had been sweetened rather than spoiled by the old creature’s loquacious kindness and officious concern, lest what she had to set before him would not be relished. While he thus sat musing–the subject of his thoughts is of no particular consequence to be known–his attention was arrested by hearing Aunt Nancy exclaim–

“Ki! Here comes Massa Martin!”

The preacher turned his head and saw a man approaching with the decided and rather quick step of one who had something on his mind.