if I don't stop to speak round the circle, I'm so put to't with Passon
True's carryin's on. You know he's been as mad as hops over Sudleigh
Cattle-Show, reg'lar as the year come round, because there's a raffle
for a quilt, or suthin'. An' now he's come an' set up a sort of a stall
over t'other side the room, an' folks thinks he's tryin' to git up a
revival. I dunno when I've seen John so stirred. He says we hadn't
ought to be made a laughin'-stock to Sudleigh, Passon or no Passon. An'
old Square Lamb says--"

But the fickle crowd waited to hear no more. With one impulse, it
surged over to the other side of the hall, where Parson True, standing
behind a table brought down from the Academy, was saying solemnly,--

"Let us engage in prayer!"

The whispering ceased; the titters of embarrassment were stilled, and
mothers tightened their grasp on little hands, to emphasize the change
of scene from light to graver hue. Some of the men looked lowering; one
or two strode out of doors. They loved Parson True, but the Cattle-Show
was all their own, and they resented even a ministerial innovation. The
parson was a slender, wiry man, with keen blue eyes, a serious mouth,
and an overtopping forehead, from which the hair was always brushed
straight back. He called upon the Lord, with passionate fervor, to
"bless this people in all their outgoings and comings-in, and to keep
their feet from paths where His blessing could not attend them."

"Is that the raffle, mother?" whispered the smallest Crane boy; and his
mother promptly administered a shake, for the correction of misplaced
curiosity.