“Laughing in prayer-time!” we both repeated, with uplifted hands and eyes. My grandfather's mild face became luminous with a suppressed smile, which brightened it as the moon does a cloud; but he said nothing. “Yes, yes,” said my grandmother, “that affair did make a dreadful scandal in the time on't! But Parson Morrel was a good man; and I'm glad the council wasn't hard on him.” “Wal,” said Sam Lawson, “after all, it was more Ike Babbit's fault than 'twas anybody's. Ye see, Ike he was allers for gettin' what he could out o' the town; and he would feed his sheep on the meetin'-house green. Somehow or other, Ike's fences allers contrived to give out, come Sunday, and up would come his sheep; and Ike was too pious to drive 'em back Sunday, and so there they was. He was talked to enough about it: 'cause, ye see, to hev sheep and lambs a ba-a-in' and a blatin' all prayer and sermon time wa'n't the thing. 'Member that 'are old meet-in'-house up to the North End, down under Blueberry Hill, the land sort o' sloped down, so as a body hed to come into the meetin'-house steppin' down instead o' up. “Fact was, they said 'twas put there 'cause the land wa'n't good for nothin' else; and the folks thought puttin' a meetin'-house on't would be a clear savin'. But Parson Morrel he didn't like it, and was free to tell 'em his mind on't,--that 'twas like bringin' the lame and the blind to the Lord's sarvice; but there 'twas. “There wa'n't a better minister, nor no one more set by in all the State, than Parson Morrel. His doctrines was right up and down, good and sharp; and he give saints and sinners their meat in due season; and for consolin' and comfortin' widders and orphans, Parson Morrel hedn't his match. The women sot lots by him; and he was allus' ready to take tea round, and make things pleasant and comfortable; and he hed a good story for every one, and a word for the children, and maybe an apple or a cookey in his pocket for 'em. Wal, you know there an't no pleasin' everybody; and ef Gabriel himself, right down out o' heaven, was to come and be a minister, I expect there'd be a pickin' at his wings, and sort o' fault-findin'. Now, Aunt Jerushy Scran and Aunt Polly Hokun they sed Parson Morrel wa'n't solemn enough. Ye see, there's them that thinks that a minister ought to be jest like the town hearse, so that ye think of death, judgment, and eternity, and nothin' else, when ye see him round; and ef they see a man rosy and chipper, and hevin' a pretty nice, sociable sort of a time, why they say he an't spiritooal minded. But, in my times, I've seen ministers the most awakenin' kind in the pulpit that was the liveliest when they was out on't. There is a time to laugh, Scriptur' says; tho' some folks never seem to remember that 'are.” “But, Sam, how came you to say it was Ike Babbit's fault? What was it about the sheep?”