There was a time when my family went to church on a regular basis, although religion never took a proper hold on me (slippery morals),there were some interesting things about church. The preacher was an Iroquois from Ontario somewhere who had got the call and come West (as my great-grandfather had done).
When the sermon was on a subject close to his heart he could really roar, almost enough to drown out the snores of my uncle, a man of a political turn, who did his best sleeping in church.

All women wore a hat and gloves in church and the girls had to wear gloves and dresses. We boys had to be clamped into stiff collars and neckties. The men wore WFA suits (weddings, funerals and arraignments) so all were equally uncomfortable. It was an improvement over my mother's day, when her grandfather (who was Church of Scotland) wouldn't let anyone do anything on the Sabbath except what had to be done for the animals.

I went through the entire gamut of church rituals, baptism, Sunday School, even confirmation,(when I could take communion and eat the bit of bread and drink the Welch's grape juice that stood in for wine in the United Church, very tasty) without gettting the remotest glimmer of a halo. I consider it a Success Story. One thing it did was to introduce me to the King James Bible, full of great poetry and folk tales and a necessary reference work for so much literature.

Pete was up before the judge, again, for horse rustling, again. The horse was clearly marked and was found in his corral by the Mounties, he didn't deny that. A lot of horses of one sort or another had been in his corral for one reason or another. But this one, he told the judge, he clearly remembered buying from a native fellow passing through, who needed the cash quick. The judge asked Pete if he had a name to put to the fellow and Pete said, no, he hadn't asked. His honour then said "If I was going to buy a horse from a chap, I would ask his name."

Pete paused, raising his aristocratic English nose, then delivered in his Westernized British twang the words that would make him immortal.

"Well, your Honour, p'raps we travel in different circles."