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“I work not for such hire,” said Mr. Pill, with a look of deep solemnity on his face, belied, indeed, by a twinkle in his small, keen eye–a twinkle which made Milton Jennings laugh candidly.

There was considerable curiosity, expressed by a murmur of lips and voices, as the minister’s tall figure entered the door and stood for a moment in a study of the scene before him. It was a characteristically Western scene. The women were rigidly on one side of the school-room, the men as rigidly on the other; the front seats were occupied by squirming boys and girls in their Sunday splendor.

On the back, to the right, were the young men, in their best vests, with paper collars and butterfly neckties, with their coats unbuttoned, their hair plastered down in a fascinating wave on their brown foreheads. Not a few were in their shirt-sleeves. The older men sat immediately between the youths and boys, talking in hoarse whispers across the aisles about the state of the crops and the county ticket, while the women in much the same way conversed about children and raising onions and strawberries. It was their main recreation, this Sunday meeting.

“Brethren!” rang out the imperious voice of the minister, “let us pray.”

The audience thoroughly enjoyed the Elder’s prayer. He was certainly gifted in that direction, and his petition grew genuinely eloquent as his desires embraced the “ends of the earth and the utterm’st parts of the seas thereof.” But in the midst of it a clatter was heard, and five or six strapping fellows filed in with loud thumpings of their brogans.

Shortly after they had settled themselves with elaborate impudence on the back seat, the singing began. Just as they were singing the last verse, every individual voice wavered and all but died out in astonishment to see William Bacon come in–an unheard-of thing! And with a clean shirt, too! Bacon, to tell the truth, was feeling as much out of place as a cat in a bath-tub, and looked uncomfortable, even shamefaced, as he sidled in, his shapeless hat gripped nervously in both hands; coatless and collarless, his shirt open at his massive throat. The girls tittered, of course, and the boys hammered each other’s ribs, moved by the unusual sight. Milton Jennings, sitting beside Marietta, said:

“Well! may I jump straight up and never come down!”

And Shep Watson said: “May I never see the back o’ my neck!” Which pleased Marietta so much that she grew purple with efforts to conceal her laughter; she always enjoyed a joke on her father.

But all things have an end, and at last the room became quiet as Mr. Pill began to read the Scripture, wondering a little at the commotion. He suspected that those dark-skinned, grinning fellows on the back seat were the Dixon boys, and knew they were bent on fun. The physique of the minister being carefully studied, the boys began whispering among themselves, and at last, just as the sermon opened, they began to push the line of young men on the long seat over toward the girls’ side, squeezing Milton against Marietta. This pleasantry encouraged one of them to whack his neighbor over the head with his soft hat, causing great laughter and disturbance. The preacher stopped. His cool, penetrating voice sounded strangely unclerical as he said:

“There are some fellows here to-day to have fun with me. If they don’t keep quiet, they’ll have more fun than they can hold.” At this point a green crab-apple bounded up the aisle. “I’m not to be bulldozed.”

He pulled off his coat and laid it on the table before him, and, amid a wondering silence, took off his cuffs and collar, saying:

“I can preach the word of the Lord just as well without my coat, and I can throw rowdies out the door a little better in my shirt-sleeves.”

Had the Dixon boys been a little shrewder as readers of human character, or if they had known why old William Bacon was there, they would have kept quiet; but it was not long before they began to push again, and at last one of them gave a squeak, and a tussle took place. The preacher was in the midst of a sentence: