At the first stage where he stopped to change horses he deemed it his duty to cheer the loneliness of the old lady by a little more conversation, and so, after offering to bring her a tumbler of water, he resumed: "Ye hain't ben to Poganuc very often;--hain't seen Dolly since she's grow'd up?" "Are you speaking of _Miss_ Cushing, sir?" asked Miss Debby, in tones of pointed rebuke. "Yis--wal, we allers call her 'Dolly' t' our house," said Hiel. "We've know'd her sence she was _that_ high. My wife used to live to the Doctor's--she thinks all the world of Dolly." Miss Debby thought of the verse in the Church Catechism in which the catechumen defines it as his duty to 'order himself lowly and reverently to all his betters.' Evidently Hiel had never heard of this precept. Perhaps if he had, the inquiry as to who _are_ betters, as presented to a shrewd and thoughtful mind, might lead to embarrassing results. So, as he seemed an utterly hopeless case, and as after all he appeared so bright, and anxious to oblige, Miss Debby surrendered at discretion, and during the last half of the way found herself laughing heartily at some of Hiel's stories and feeling some interest in the general summary of Poganuc news which he threw in gratis. "Yis, the Doctor's folks is all well. Doctor's had lots o' things sent in this year, Thanksgiving time--turkeys and chickens and eggs and lard--every kind o' thing you can think of. Everybody sent--Town Hill folks, and folks out seven miles round. Everybody likes the Doctor; they'd orter, too! There ain't sech a minister nowhere. The way he explains the doctrines and sets 'em home--I tell ye, there ain't no mistake about _him_; he's a hull team, now, and our folks knows it. Orter 'a' ben here a week ago, when the Doctor had his wood-spell. Tell ye, if the sleds didn't come in! Why, his back-yard's a perfect mountain o' wood--best sort too, good oak and hickory, makes good solid coals--enough to keep him a year round. Wal, folks _orter_ do it. He's faithful to them, they'd orter do wal by him." "Isn't there an Episcopal church in your town?" asked Miss Debby. "Oh, yis, there is a little church. Squire Lewis he started it 'bout six years ago, and there was consid'able many signed off to it. But our Poganuc folks somehow ain't made for 'Piscopals. A 'Piscopal church in our town is jest like a hill o' potatoes planted under a big apple-tree; the tree got a-growin' afore they did, and don't give 'em no chance. There was my wife's father, he signed off, 'cause of a quarrel he hed with his own church; but he's come back agin, and so have all his boys, and Nabby, and jined the Doctor's church. Fact is, our folks sort o' hanker arter the old meetin'-house." "Who is the rector of the Episcopal church?"