When there was a fifth Sunday in the month, both of the regular preachers came to the village, inviting any other preacher who chanced to be in the vicinity to join in the debate which then took the place of the sermon, and which was held in the court-house, on neutral ground, as it were. Sometimes the Cumberland Presbyterians and the Hard-shell Baptists took part, and now and then a Foot-Washing Baptist came along, so that these fifth Sundays were usually memorable occasions in Oldfield. Occasionally, to be sure, there was some slight friction, as was, perhaps, unavoidable under the circumstances; but, on the whole, this rotation in creeds and dogmas gave remarkable general satisfaction. The exceptions were very few and purely personal in character, the gravest and most important growing out of an unfortunate dispute between Miss Pettus and the Christian elder over the ownership of a runaway pig. The controversy ended in the reverend gentleman's getting the pig. When, therefore, on the following Sunday--through some singular mischance--he chose as a text: "Children, have ye any meat?" Miss Pettus not unnaturally felt that he was wantonly adding insult to injury, and, rising from her seat in the front of the church, the indignant lady--holding herself haughtily erect and her head very high--walked straight down the whole length of the middle aisle and out through the women's door. It was a year or more before she could be induced to go back again to hear the elder preach, notwithstanding that he did everything in his power (like the good man that he was) to convince her of his innocence of any thought of offence. But she tried to forgive him--which is all that the best of us can do--and she ultimately succeeded, in so far that she returned to the meeting-house on his day. She could not help, however, saying at the time, when coming out, how much she disliked levity in the pulpit, be it Christian or Methodist; yet she admitted afterward, when cooler, that he might have meant no irreverence, though there was no gainsaying his levity, when he announced at the close of the sermon that he would preach again on the second Sunday, "the Lord willing;" but that he would preach again on the fourth Sunday "whether or no." There are always plenty of overcritical people besides Miss Pettus to be found everywhere. Some of those living in Oldfield complained that the circuit rider pounded so much dust out of the pulpit cushion that they took cold from continual sneezing every time he preached. Others were inclined to criticise the too vigorous elocution of the elder when he warmed to the warning of his flock against the shifting sands of dangerous doctrines, bidding them build their house of faith upon a rock, so that it might fall _n-o-t_ when the winds _b-l-e-w_.