It was like him--he would not stop when once he started.

Why, it was so he married my mother, that very sweet Quakeress from the foot of old Catoctin.

He told me she said him no many times, not liking his wild ways, so contrary to the manner of the Society of Friends; and she only consented after binding him to go with her once each week to the little stone church at Wallingford village, near our farm, provided he should be at home and able to attend.

My mother I think during her life had not missed a half dozen meetings at the little stone church.

Twice a week, and once each Sunday, and once each month, and four times each year, and also annually, the Society of Friends met there at Wallingford, and have done so for over one hundred and thirty-five years.