CHAPTER V

Around half-past ten, the old bell of the small church began its ring, and soon people started gathering for the morning sermon. The Sunday-school kids scattered throughout the pews with their parents, ensuring they were under supervision. Aunt Polly arrived, and Tom, Sid, and Mary joined her—Tom was seated next to the aisle, intentionally placed far from the enticing outdoor scenes visible through an open window. As the crowd filed in, it included familiar faces: the elderly postmaster who had seen better days; the mayor and his wife—for they indeed had a mayor, among other community leaders; the justice of the peace; Widow Douglas, fair and forty, known for her generosity and affluence, with her grand home as the town’s only mansion, famed for its hospitality and lavish events. The venerable Major and Mrs. Ward were present, along with lawyer Riverson, a new arrival from elsewhere in the state. Following them was the village belle, adorned in flowing skirts and vibrant ribbons, trailed by a group of eager young admirers. Then came all the town’s clerks together—they had been loitering at the church entrance, absorbed in their canes, until each girl had passed through their line. Finally, the Model Boy, Willie Mufferson, arrived with his mother under careful watch as if she were fragile porcelain. He always brought her to church and was admired by all the women. The boys disliked him for his goodness, partly because he often received undue praise. His handkerchief hung from his pocket, a Sunday tradition—though Tom had none and regarded those who did as pretentious.

Once everyone was settled, the bell rang again, signaling anyone late to hurry in. A deep silence descended on the church, briefly broken by the choir’s whispers and giggles from the gallery—a habit they never seemed to shake off. There once existed a well-mannered choir, but it’s long forgotten where.

The minister began the hymn with an enthusiastic flourish unique to his style, beloved in that region. He started at a moderate pitch, climbed steadily to emphasize the final word dramatically before dropping back down:

Shall I be carried toe the skies, on flow’ry beds
of ease,
Whilst others fight to win the prize, and sail thro’ blood-
y seas?

His reading was renowned. At church gatherings, he often read poetry, leaving the audience in awe—hands lifted in appreciation, eyes widened, heads shaking with admiration.

After singing the hymn, the Rev. Mr. Sprague transitioned into a bulletin-board role, announcing upcoming meetings and events, creating an endless list that stretched on—a peculiar tradition persisting even now in some places despite modern alternatives. Then he began his prayer: comprehensive and heartfelt, covering concerns for everyone from local church members to distant sailors lost at sea, oppressed peoples worldwide, and beyond; concluding with a hope for his sermon’s message to resonate deeply.

As the congregation settled back down after the prayer, Tom, our young protagonist, wasn’t much taken by it. He fidgeted throughout—counting off its parts instinctively—and found himself irked when anything new was added, viewing these insertions as unfair and ungrateful. During the prayer, a fly landed on the pew in front of him and began to clean itself nonchalantly, tormenting Tom’s patience until the prayer concluded, at which point he swiftly captured it—only for his aunt to make him release the insect.

The minister announced his text and continued with an argument that was so dry many heads nodded off—even though it depicted apocalyptic scenes of fire and brimstone. Tom counted the sermon pages—a habit after each service—but seldom grasped their content. However, he briefly became engrossed when the minister painted a vivid picture of the millennium gathering where harmony reigned among all creatures; Tom, however, was more captivated by his potential role in such an event.

Once again drifting into disinterest as the mundane argument resumed, Tom retrieved a special item—a large black beetle with formidable jaws known to him as a “pinchbug,” kept inside a small percussion-cap box. The moment it took hold of his finger, he quickly set it free into the aisle where it struggled on its back until a nearby poodle dog noticed and became determinedly engaged in capturing it.

The dog’s antics—jumping around, sniffing cautiously, then resting on the beetle with apparent indifference before finally sitting atop it—led to a dramatic yelp of pain when the poodle inadvertently bit its own tongue. Tom watched from his pew as the distressed dog dashed out through an open window, leaving behind waves of suppressed laughter throughout the congregation.

The sermon faltered under the weight of mirth, and once concluded with the benediction, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. On the way home, Tom reflected on church’s unexpected entertainment value, though he felt guilty about his beetle’s fate.