eyes, and asked what time it was. I did not know, but told him nobody was up. "Late enough, though, I'll be bound," said Jem, bestirring himself.

"Do you walk or ride to church, or how?" I asked.

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How, I guess," answered Jem. “That's the way they generally go. Your uncle's folks are not much of go-to-meeting hands; that's the long and short of it.”

"Don't they go at all?" I asked anxiously.

"Pretty much so-so," answered Jem. "It's not as I was brought up."

"Nor I," I added. "No, indeed! we always went to meeting, in all sorts of weather: and I think it is wicked to stay at home. It is not keeping the Sabbath day holy, to stay at home when you can go to church."

"Good doctrine," said Jem, leaving the

room.

When we met at breakfast, how dirty and lazy did every body look; sleepy and listless, too! There was none of the busy activity of week-days, except in my aunt, who

was getting a rich breakfast of pancakes and fried pork and potatoes. When the breakfast-horn sounded, my uncle was whittling on a log in the yard; Nat was playing with the dog, and Bill was fixing his fishing-tackle.

"Is this Sunday?" I asked myself.

After breakfast, I whispered to Nat, and asked what time we went to meeting. "That is according to how you go." "How shall you go? How do you commonly go?

"We are not much of going-to-meeting folks," answered Nat.

دو

"If you don't go, what do you do? I asked impatiently, perhaps.

"Do? why, whatever we have a mind to! Go a-fishing, or over to Pilot Mountain, or over to the village; enough to do. Bill says he's going trouting. I guess I shall go, too; and, Hugh, have you not a mind to join us? At any rate, I want just to borrow that nice little rod of your's, that shuts in so snugly."

Nat said this in a more friendly tone than I thought he could use. Nat and

Bill were no great talkers. They generally went about their business; they minded nobody, and nobody minded them.

Going trouting! How my father used to tell us about going trouting, and how I should like to go! Of all things, what would be pleasanter than going trouting? Trouting where my father used to go, and following up the little babbling brooks!

Then, too, I had his rod. It was the only thing I took, besides my Bible and my clothes. My mother gave it to me, soon after he died. She said, "Here, Hugh, this shall be your's; keep it for your father's sake."

Father used to love to go out, and sit on the quiet banks and under shady trees, or follow up the streams, on pleasant Saturday afternoons. Henry and I often used to go with him. The rod was composed of many pieces, to be lengthened and shortened at pleasure. I had shown it to Nat as my choice treasure, though, as yet, I had never fished; and this was the only time my cousins seemed to take any special interest in me, or any thing pertaining to me.

I

was a sorrowful little orphan then. The idea of trying to comfort, or make another happy, I do not suppose ever entered their minds. They went upon the maxim, that each must take care of one. But now Nat wanted to borrow my rod to go trouting, and he wanted me to go too, but-it was Sunday!

"If you are going," said Nat, supposing he saw "yes" in my earnest, glowing face, "get off your best clothes; mother won't allow that! and run, bring down your rod; be quick!"

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Why, it is Sunday!" I said, at length. "What of that?" asked my cousin.

"What are you talking about?" asked Bill, issuing from the wood-house with his fishing-tackle. "You are going with us, a'n't you, Hugh?"

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Why, it is Sunday," I again said; my heart beating quickly.

"What of that, I say?" cried Nat, in a vexed tone.

"I dare say, Hugh thinks we must do nothing but sing psalms," said Bill, with a tone of voice which I did not relish.

"No such thing!" I answered excitedly; "but I do think Sunday is no day to go fishing in. Doing so is not keeping it as the Bible says, I am sure."

"Bible says? what do you know about what the Bible says?" asked Bill.

"I think as much," joined Nat.

"I know it says, 'Remember the Sabbath-day, to keep it holy: in it thou shalt do no work.'"

"No work!" exclaimed Nat; "that's my doctrine. I don't go for work, except when the hay or grain must be got in." "But you do trout," said Bill, giggling. "Yes; so do I; and Hugh will be ready enough to let his rod go and do the work, and he'll be glad enough to eat the trout, if we'll catch 'em. That's the way with these Sunday-folks, father says. There's Squire Jones: he himself goes to meeting, while he don't mind starting his men off with a drove of cattle Sunday morning, eh!"

"Well, Hugh a’n't a man. So, are you going, or not going?" cried Nat, with an impatient jerk of his shoulders. "Nobody will mind or care, I guess, whether you go or not."