After a while the congregation began to move out of the pews, a few at a time, and crowd up to the minister. Then they knelt down before him, and he gave them bread and wine close to the altar, instead of having it handed about as they do in our Presbyterian meeting-houses. Cousin E. E. went up with the rest, and wanted me to go with her, but I could not bring myself to partake of the Lord's Supper from a man in his shirt-sleeves, and with a silk cape on; so I shook my head and sat still, watching the altar. After they had done coming up to him, the minister knelt down and prayed awhile; then he got up, and the boy in red shirt and white frock handed him a black hat, with four corners, which he put on his head; then he took something from the altar and walked through a side door, still wearing his double-cocked hat. The boy followed him out, and then a man came round among the pews with a plate, in which Cousin E. E. dropped a gold piece with a ringing noise that made people look round. I followed up with five cents, and was astonished to see how little ring it had after the gold; nobody looked round at me. It was broad daylight when we came out of that little meeting-house, and not quite so cold as it had been; but still I was glad to keep my muff up to my face, and we walked toward home like a house afire. "Well, how did you like the service?" says Cousin E. E., as we shivered along--"impressive, isn't it?" "Very," says I; "only do tell me what it was all about. This getting up and sitting down and bowing at nothing is more than I can understand." "Oh," says she, "I ought to remember you came from a Congregational part of the country." "And Methodist--to say nothing of Baptists and Quakers," says I. "Yes, I mean all that," says she; "but the church, as a church, is but little understood among you." "Well, as you came from the same place, you ought to know," says I, rebuking her city airs in my most austere manner. "Well, yes," says she; "but one doesn't hear much of the true church so far in the mountains. Even you seemed puzzled by a good many things this morning." "Well, yes," says I--"the four-cornered cocked hat, for instance." "The four-cornered cocked hat!" says she, stopping short on the sidewalk. "What do you mean? That was the barette." "Oh," says I, "that is what they call it! Well, then, the four-cornered cocked barette--what does the minister wear that for? It isn't generally considered good manners for men to wear hats in meeting." "Oh, there is a clerical reason I can't quite explain, but it is a part of the ceremony." "Just so," says I--"and the night-gown." "Surplice, you mean," says E. E.; "oh, that is worn everywhere, in High and Low Church alike." "Well," says I, "there may be a reason for such things, but a respectable black coat is what I've been used to." "Yes, I know," says she; "but some people prefer the surplice and cope."