the schoolmaster and one or two of the more intelligent farmers
occasionally said among themselves: "The parson seems to have only
one sermon; he talks of nothing but God's wisdom and God's
government. All that is well enough so long as the Dissenters keep
away. But this stronghold is poorly defended and would fall at the
first attack."

Lay preachers generally passed by this parish. "What's the good of
going there?" they used to say. "Those people don't want to be
awakened." Not only the lay preachers, but even all the "awakened
souls" in the neighbouring parishes looked upon the Ingmarssons and
their fellow-parishioners as great sinners, and whenever they
caught the sound of the bells from their church they would say the
bells were tolling, "Sleep in your sins! Sleep in your sins!"

The whole congregation, old and young alike, were furious when they
learned that people spoke in that way of their bells. They knew
that their folks never forgot to repeat the Lord's Prayer whenever
the church bells rang, and that every evening, at the time of the
Angelus, the menfolk uncovered their heads, the women courtesied,
and everybody stood still about as long as it takes to say an Our
Father. All who have lived in that parish must acknowledge that God
never seemed so mighty and so honoured as on summer evenings, when
scythes were rested, and plows were stopped in the middle of a
furrow, and the seed wagon was halted in the midst of the loading,
simply at the stroke of a bell. It was as if they knew that our
Lord at that moment was hovering over the parish on an evening
cloud--great and powerful and good--breathing His blessing upon the
whole community.