ABOUT half-past ten the cracked bell of
the small church began to ring, and pres-
ently the people began to gather for the
morning sermon. The Sunday-school
children distributed themselves about the
house and occupied pews with their par-
ents, so as to be under supervision. Aunt Polly came,
and Tom and Sid and Mary sat with her -- Tom being
placed next the aisle, in order that he might be as
far away from the open window and the seductive
outside summer scenes as possible. The crowd filed
up the aisles: the aged and needy postmaster, who
had seen better days; the mayor and his wife -- for
they had a mayor there, among other unnecessaries;
the justice of the peace; the widow Douglass, fair,
smart, and forty, a generous, good-hearted soul and
well-to-do, her hill mansion the only palace in the
town, and the most hospitable and much the most
lavish in the matter of festivities that St. Petersburg
could boast; the bent and venerable Major and Mrs.
Ward; lawyer Riverson, the new notable from a dis-
tance; next the belle of the village, followed by a troop
of lawn-clad and ribbon-decked young heart-breakers;
then all the young clerks in town in a body -- for they
had stood in the vestibule sucking their cane-heads, a
circling wall of oiled and simpering admirers, till the
last girl had run their gantlet; and last of all came
the Model Boy, Willie Mufferson, taking as heedful
care of his mother as if she were cut glass. He always
brought his mother to church, and was the pride of all
the matrons. The boys all hated him, he was so good.
And besides, he had been "thrown up to them" so
much. His white handkerchief was hanging out of his
pocket behind, as usual on Sundays -- accidentally.
Tom had no handkerchief, and he looked upon boys
who had as snobs.

