great revival over there in the fall, and one Sunday I thought’s how I’d go; and when I got there, who should be a-prayin’ but old Ben Patey,—­he always lays out to get converted,—­and he kep’ it up diligent till I couldn’t stand it no longer; and by and by says he, ’I’ve been a wanderer’; and I up and says, ’Yes, you have, I’ll back ye up on that, Ben; ye’ve wandered around my wood-lot and spoilt half the likely young oaks and ashes I’ve got, a-stealing your basket-stuff.’  And the folks laughed out loud, and up he got and cleared.  He’s an awful old thief, and he’s no idea of being anything else.  I wa’n’t a-goin’ to set there and hear him makin’ b’lieve to the Lord.  If anybody’s heart is in it, I ain’t a-goin’ to hender ’em; I’m a professor, and I ain’t ashamed of it, week-days nor Sundays neither.  I can’t bear to see folks so pious to meeting, and cheat yer eye-teeth out Monday morning.  Well, there! we ain’t none of us perfect; even old Parson Moody was round-shouldered, they say.”

“You were speaking of the Becketts just now,” said Mr. Lorimer (after we had stopped laughing, and Mrs. Bonny had settled her big steel-bowed spectacles, and sat looking at him with an expression of extreme wisdom.  One might have ventured to call her “peart,” I think).  “How do they get on?  I am seldom in this region nowadays, since Mr. Reid has taken it under his charge.”

“They get along, somehow or ’nother,” replied Mrs. Bonny; “they’ve got the best farm this side of the ledge, but they’re dreadful lazy and shiftless, them young folks.  Old Mis’ Hate-evil Beckett was tellin’ me the other day—­she that was Samanthy Barnes, you know—­that one of the boys got fighting, the other side of the mountain, and come home with his nose broke and a piece o’ one ear bit off.  I forget which ear it was.  Their mother is a real clever, willin’ woman, and she takes it to heart, but it’s no use for her to say anything.  Mis’ Hate-evil Beckett, says she, ’It does make my man feel dreadful to see his brother’s folks carry on so.’  ‘But there,’ says I, ‘Mis’ Beckett, it’s just such things as we read of; Scriptur’ is fulfilled:  In the larter days there shall be disobedient children.’”

This application of the text was too much for us, but Mrs. Bonny looked serious, and we did not like to laugh.  Two or three of the exiled fowls had crept slyly in, dodging underneath our chairs, and had perched themselves behind the stove.  They were long-legged, half-grown creatures, and just at this minute one rash young rooster made a manful attempt to crow.  “Do tell!” said his mistress, who rose in great wrath, “you needn’t be so forth-putting, as I knows on!” After this we were urged to stay and have some supper.  Mrs. Bonny assured us she could pick a likely young hen in no time, fry her with a bit of pork, and get us up “a good meat tea”; but we had to disappoint her, as we had some distance to walk to the house where we had left our horses, and a long drive home.