he exclaimed, tapping the ground with one of his sticks for emphasis, "What! that young Brent preachin' in our church, in our minister's pulpit! It's a shame,—an' he the born son of old Tom Brent, that all the town knows was the worst sinner here-abouts. I ain't a-goin' to go; I ain't a-goin' to go."
"Don't you be afeared to go, Dan'l: there ain't no danger that his docterns air a- goin' to be as strong as his father's whisky," said his old enemy.
"Oh, it's fur the likes o' you, Thomas Donaldson, to be a-talkin' o' docterns an' whisky in the same breath. You never did have no reverence," said the old man, testily.
"An' yet, Dan'l, I've found docterns an' whisky give out by the same breath."
Mr. Hastings did not think it necessary to notice this remark. He went on with his tirade against the prospective "supply:" "Why can't Elder Simpson preach hisself, I'd like to know, instead o' puttin' up that young upstart to talk to his betters? Why, I mind the time that that boy had to be took out o' church by the hand fur laffin' at me,— at me, mind you," the old man repeated,
