Archie M’Clean came over, whenever he could spare the time, and Dod Hunter’s eldest son, Jerry, admiring Polly’s energy and wit, made frequent excuses to drop in to see how they were getting along, to help with the garden, or to bring in a haunch of venison or a wild turkey. Every one recognized the fact that Fergus Kennedy was not an efficient protector, but no one doubted the fact that Polly was. Agnes, auburn haired, blue eyed, fair skinned, was undeniably a girl to be admired by the stalwart young frontiersmen, and when she set out with Polly to any of the rude entertainments the settlement afforded, there was never a lack of an escort. It was a great event when a little log meeting-house was erected by these pious Scotch-Irish, and the going to meeting meant as much to the younger people as to their elders, though perhaps not in quite the same way. The children, to be sure, rather dreaded the rigid discipline of sitting still through exceedingly long prayers and still longer sermons, but this exercise of self-control was to their advantage, and they liked the psalms, which because of the scarcity of psalm-books were lined out by Joseph M’Clean, who was precentor. The psalms were sung with great heartiness by young and old to the “Twelve common tunes,” though singing-masters farther east were beginning to introduce newer ones, thereby causing some dissension. It was one Saturday afternoon that Archie appeared more spruced up than usual. His hair was sleeked down with bear’s oil, and his hunting-shirt was adorned with embroidery done with porcupine quills. Polly saw him coming and laughed. “Faith, but ye beeta look fine, Archie,” she cried. “It’s no the Sabbath yet, but yer rigged up to the nines, and strut like a turkey-gobbler.” Archie flushed under his sunburn, but he answered Polly’s sally with, “It’s no so far from the Sabbath Polly, an’ ye’d better be catechising the children, so they’ll know what’s the chief end o’ man when the new meenister visits ye.” “Now hear him!” Polly cried. “Is it a meenister himsel’ that is spakin’? Land o’ love, Nancy, see the solemn countenance av the lad. He’s come to tell us that he’s off to study for the meenistry, an’ that’s why he’s so prinked out. I’ll be gettin’ me dye kittle ready, Archie dear, to color yer blacks fur ye; ye’ll soon be needin’ ’em.” Agnes came to the door where the two were standing. She was a little flushed from having been over the fire. “You’re pranked beyond a doubt, Archie,” she said. “What’s the occasion?” Archie looked embarrassed. “It’s no occasion, Nancy, except I came over to see you, and ask you to go to church with me to-morrow. Father has a new horse, and I’ll take you on the pillion.” Agnes put her head to one side rather shyly, as she glanced at Polly. “There’s father,” she said. “He loves to go to church, and he will miss me.”