I had invited Mr. Bell to take a cup of tea with us, and likewise Mr. Herbert, the schoolmaster, who was a most superior man indeed; but I was so much disconcerted by what I had heard from that ill-speaking bodie, John Waft, that I could hardly muster courage enough to take me home to join them.

The more I reflected on the story, I was the more displeased with the meddling. Mr. Bell had told me, as we were coming from Olympus together in the wagon, that he had been married ten years, and had seven children,—a heavy handful. His manners were of a regulated methodical mildness, and he had a calm look of resignation, which begot a good opinion of him. It was impossible he could have been long within that ten years addicted to disorderly courses; and there was a fatherly solicitude in the manner he spoke of the reasons which had induced him to come to America with his family, that showed he was not only a man of gentle affections, but likewise animated by a right religious principle: I could have wished that the tongue had been cutted out of the mouth of that John Waft.

The first movement of my mind, after parting from him, was to consult Mr. Herbert and Mr. Hoskins; but, upon better consideration, I thought it would not do—Mr. Herbert being of the sect of the Church of England, and of course prelatic and concupiscible in his notions, could have no right sense of the case; and Mr. Hoskins, being an indefinite Methodist, could have no sense of it at all. Truly, that afternoon, I was in great straits; and I took a turn in the woods by myself, cogitating what was to be done.

After the best consideration I was able to bestow on the subject, it appeared to be a matter in which I ought to have but a small concern.