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Updated: June 24, 2025
Conspicuous in the group was the little snuffy doctor, Critchel, looking happy among the people whose ills he had administered to for half a century. On Harvest-Sunday he could kiss and caress the bright faced little children he had helped bring into the world as fondly as a young mother.
Then turning to Critchel, he touched that odd old gentleman on the elbow, saying: "You remember the old grave-digger of thirty years ago, oh, Critchel?" "Well, very well," replied Critchel; "he was a clever old man, and did his business well. He used to say I brought people into the world, and he sent them out." "Bless me!" resumed the Dominie; "if here is'nt his son come to life again.
The storm had caught the little house by the shoulders, and was giving it one of its most violent shakes, when the dog suddenly started up, gave a growl, then walked solemnly to the door and listened. A footstep in the old veranda, then the stamping of feet, and a knock at the door came. It was Critchel, the little snuffy doctor, who entered, looking for all the world like an enlarged snow-ball.
There, too, was a paper, bearing his own signature, and indeed a confession of guilt. In the midst of his grief it occurred to Hanz that a man who had invented so many religions must be something of a Christian, so he resolved to see him face to face, and have an honest talk with him. To that end he persuaded Critchel, who was his friend and adviser always, to bear him company into the city.
Then Dominie Payson took his place at the altar; and Hanz and Angeline, representing age beautified by simplicity, walked slowly up the aisle, and took their place on one side, followed by Critchel, the inn-keeper and the schoolmaster, who stood just behind them. A few minutes later and Mrs.
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