It was useless to urge her, and she came into church a few minutes later
than we did, and sat in her own pew next ours. This church was an
old-time affair, having been built by the early settlers. It had, as all
those old churches had, square pews, a stove in its central portion with
huge arms of pipe that stretched embracingly in all ways; and its pulpit
was so high that I prevailed on father to sit back from the centre as
far as we could and be comfortably warm, for it was breaking ones' neck
to look at the minister, and the sermon was half lost if you could not
see the play of his features. Our worship was of the Presbyterian order,
and our present pastor a worthy man. This was all the church that
belonged to us really. In the village which nestled in the valley two
and a half miles south-west of us, like a child in the lap of its
mother, there were three churches, Baptist, Methodist, and
Presbyterian, and many who attended our old church would have liked
better to go to one of those, and at times did so, but it was quite a
ride in winter, and for this reason our church was better filled at this
season than in the summer days.

A new branch of belief had latterly developed itself somewhat in our
neighborhood, and this embraced the thought of universal salvation.
There had been meetings held at the houses of some of our friends, and
once or twice mother and myself had attended.

The sermon on this Christmas day did me no good, for our minister chose
for his subject false doctrines, and the pointed allusions and
personalities savored greatly of a spirit that was not calculated to
remind us of the humble Nazarene and his lowly spirit.

Tearing the roof down over our heads would not give one an idea of a