Elder Walker was one of those who had gone off to form a new congregation at Tinkling Spring, and I gathered from his talk that the feud caused by a secession of a part of the congregation had not yet abated. Between my Uncle Thomas and Elder Walker this split in the congregation had given rise to a lasting bitterness, and during all our conversation my Uncle Thomas' name was not mentioned.
Every rod of the way, from the town to the church, was marked with memories for me. I smiled at the recollection of the squirrel I had caught in the top branches of a certain gnarled old oak; of the deer I had shot, as it bounded across the branch in yonder meadow; of the strawberries I had gathered from the sunny hillsides. Wrapped in these recollections of a happy boyhood, I rode on, as in a dream, and came at last with the surprise of suddenness, upon the old church.
One might have supposed that a cavalry company was bivouacked in the grove, from the horses hitched to every tree and shrub, and the illusion would only be strengthened upon closer view, by the rude but strong fortifications encircling the building. How vividly came back the sounds and scenes of the Indian raid! especially the erect form and inspired face of old Parson Craig, addressing "his lads," in the spirit of a Spartan leader. Years before this intrepid man of God had gone to his reckoning, and I had no doubt as to the side of the account on which he had found that Mosaic charge he had given us to "slay and spare not."
But the sounds issuing that March morning from the closed doors of the old church were sounds of Christian harmony and pious rejoicing. The congregation was singing one of Rouse's paraphrases as I pushed the door open gently, and glided into the vacant pew against the wall. Not a head was turned, so engrossed were they all in worship, save those of two or three restless children. I drew myself close in the shadow of a pillar, and listened with glad and thankful heart to the singing. This was the psalm, and the words were set to one of those solemn, grand old tunes, which rolled so deep and full from the throats of big chested, earnest men, and devout women, that no accompaniment of instruments, such as the modern music is said to require, was needed.