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E were in disgrace, we boys; and the reason of it was this: we had
laughed out in meeting-time! To be sure, the occasion was a trying one,
even to more disciplined nerves. Parson Lothrop had exchanged pulpits
with Parson Summeral, of North Wearem. Now, Parson Summeral was a man
in the very outset likely to provoke the risibles of unspiritualized
juveniles. He was a thin, wiry, frisky little man, in a powdered white
wig, black tights, and silk stockings, with bright knee-buckles and
shoe-buckles; with round, dark, snapping eyes; and a curious, high,
cracked, squeaking voice, the very first tones of which made all the
children stare and giggle. The news that Parson Summeral was going to
preach in our village spread abroad among us as a prelude to something
funny. It had a flavor like the charm of circus-acting; and, on the
Sunday morning of our story, we went to the house of God in a very
hilarious state, all ready to set off in a laugh on the slightest
provocation.
The occasion was not long wanting. Parson Lo-throp had a favorite dog
yclept Trip, whose behavior in meeting was notoriously far from that
edifying pattern which befits a minister's dog on Sundays. Trip was
a nervous dog, and a dog that never could be taught to conceal his
emotions or to respect conventionalities. If any thing about the
performance in the singers' seat did not please him, he was apt to
express himself in a lugubrious howl. If the sermon was longer than
suited him, he would gape with such a loud creak of his jaws as would
arouse everybody's attention. If the flies disturbed his afternoon's
nap, he would give sudden snarls or snaps; or, if anything troubled his
dreams, he would bark out in his sleep in a manner not only to dispel
his own slumbers, but those of certain worthy deacons and old ladies,
whose sanctuary repose was thereby sorely broken and troubled. For all
these reasons, Madame Lo-throp had been forced, as a general thing, to
deny Trip the usual sanctuary privileges of good family dogs in that
age, and shut him up on Sundays to private meditation. Trip, of course,
was only the more set on attendance, and would hide behind doors, jump
out of windows, sneak through by-ways and alleys, and lie hid till the
second bell had done tolling, when suddenly he would appear in the broad
aisle, innocent and happy, and take his seat as composedly as any member
of the congregation.
Imagine us youngsters on the _qui vive_ with excitement at seeing Parson
Summeral frisk up into the pulpit with all the vivacity of a black
grasshopper. We looked at each other, and giggled very cautiously, with
due respect to Aunt Lois's sharp observation.
At first, there was only a mild, quiet simmering of giggle, compressed
decorously within the bounds of propriety; and we pursed our muscles up
with stringent resolution, whenever we caught the apprehensive eye of
our elders.
But when, directly after the closing notes of the tolling second bell,
Master Trip walked gravely up the front aisle, and, seating himself
squarely in front of the pulpit, raised his nose with a critical air
toward the scene of the forthcoming performance, it was too much for us:
the repression was almost convulsive. Trip wore an alert, attentive air,
befitting a sound, orthodox dog, who smells a possible heresy, and deems
it his duty to watch the performances narrowly.
Evidently he felt called upon to see who and what were to occupy that
pulpit in his master's absence.
Up rose Parson Summeral; and up went Trip's nose, vibrating with intense
attention.