At length came Sunday, as Sunday only comes in a country village. No such peace, no such Sabbath anywhere. You have only got to look at anything you like to know that it is Sunday. Bill’s shirt collar; the milkman; even his bright milk-can has a Sunday shine about it. The cows standing in the shallow brook have a reverent air about them. They never look like that on any other day. Why the very sunshine is Sabbath sunshine, and seems to bring more peace and more pleasantness than on any other day of the week. And all the trees seem to whisper together, “It’s Sunday morning.”
Presently you see the people straggling up to the little church, whose donging bell keeps on as much as to say, “I know I’m not much of a peal, but in my humble way I do my duty to the best of my ability; it’s not the sound but the spirit of the thing that is required; and if I’m not very musical, and can’t give you many changes, I’m sincere in what I say.” And this was an emblem of the sincerity and the simplicity of the clergyman inside. He kept on hammering away at the old truths and performing his part in God’s great work to the best of his ability; and I know with very great success. So in they all came to church; and Joe, who had been a very good Sunday-school pupil (notwithstanding his love of poaching) and was a favourite with the vicar, as the reader knows, took his old place in the free seats, not very far from the pew where the vicar’s servants sat. Who can tell what his feelings were as he wondered whether Polly would be there that morning?
The other servants came in. Ah, dear! Polly can’t come, now look at that! Just as he was thinking this in she came. Such a flutter in her heart as she saw the bright uniform and the brighter face, bronzed with a foreign clime and looking as handsome as ever a face could look. O what a flutter too in Joe’s heart! But he was determined not to care for her. So he wouldn’t look, and that was a very good way; and he certainly would have kept his word if he could.
I think if I had to choose where and how I would be admired, if ever such a luxury could come to me, I would be Joe Wurzel under present circumstances. A young hero, handsome, tall, in the uniform of the Hussars, with a loved one near and all the village girls fixing their eyes on me! That for once only, and my utmost ambition would be gratified. Life could have no greater pride for me. I don’t know whether the sermon made much impression that day, but of the two, I verily believe Joe made the most; and as they streamed out of the little church all the young faces of the congregation were turned to him: and everywhere when they got outside it was, “Halloa, Joe!” “Why, Joe, my lad, what cheer?” “Dang’d if here bean’t Joe!” and other exclamations of welcome and surprise. And then, how all the pinafored boys flocked round and gazed with wondering eyes at this conquering hero; chattering to one another and contradicting one another about what this part of his uniform was and what that part was, and so on; but all agreeing that Joe was about the finest sight that had come into Yokelton since ever it was a place.