"The Dominie's coming! the Dominie's coming! The Dominie's coming!" was lisped by a score of lips, as the attention of the people was attracted down the road.

There the old Dominie came, mounted on a clumsy-footed, big-headed, bay cob--a little bright-eyed girl, whose face was full of sweetness and love, and dressed in blue and white, riding behind him.

His broad, kindly face, shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat, his flowing white hair, his quaintly cut coat, with the ample side pocket, and his long, white necktie, presented a picture so full of truth and simplicity as to be worthy of being preserved on canvas.

He was, in truth, a figure belonging to an order of things that was fast passing way--at least along the banks of the Hudson.
Children clapped their hands and ran to meet him; girls greeted him with offerings of flowers; and when he had dismounted, both old and young gathered about him, lisping him a welcome and shaking him by the hand.
There was nobody like Dominie Payson, and the love these people bore him, and now gave him so many expressions of, was true and heartfelt.
And when he had kissed the children, and exchanged greetings and kind words with their parents, he proceeded into the church, followed by his flock.

His sermon was, perhaps, one of the oddest ever listened to, for after returning thanks for the bountiful harvest, and extending on the goodness of God, and advising his flock to stick firmly to their farms and their religion, that being the only true way of getting to Heaven, he turned his guns against Mr.and Mrs.Chapman, though he never once mentioned their names.