cricks, they plunge in with their guns stropped to their backs, their powder tied up in their socks in their hats, their shoes tied 'round their necks an' their butcher-knife in their teeth. After they lan'

they seem to think it's the greates' thing in the worl' that they've been permitted to wade through water instead of crossin' on a log, an' they spen' the balance of their time marchin' 'roun' an' singin':

"'Billows of mercy, over me roll, Oceans of Faith an' Hope, come to my soul.'

"Don't want to fly to heaven--want to swim there. An' if they find too much lan' after they get there, they'll spen' the res' of eternity prayin' for a deluge.

"Bes' ole relig'un in the worl', tho,--good fighters, too, in the Lord's cause. Ole timey, an' a trifle keerless about their accoutrements, an' too much water nachully keeps their guns rusty an'

their powder damp, but if it comes to a square-up fight agin the cohorts of sin, an' the powder in their pans is too damp for flashin', they'd jes' as soon wade in with the butcher-knife an' the meat axe. I nachully out-grow'd 'em, for I seed if the Great Captain 'ud command us all to jine armies an' fight the worl', the Baptis'

'ud never go in, unless it was a sea-fight.

"From them to the Cam'elites was easy, for I seed they was web-footed, too. The only diff'rence betwix' them an' the Baptis' is that they are willin' to jine in with any other rigiment, provided allers that you let them 'pint the sappers an' miners an' blaze out the way. Good fellers, tho', an' learned me lots. They beats the worl' for standin' up for each other an' votin' allers for fust place. If there's a promotion in camp they want it; 'n' when they ain't out a-drillin' their companies they're sho' to be in camp 'sputin' with other rigiments as to how to do it. Good, hones'

fighters, tho', and tort me how to use my side arms in a tight place.

Scatterin' in some localities, but like the Baptises, whenever you find a mill-dam there'll be their camp an' plenty o' corn.

"Lord, how I did enjoy it when I struck the Methodis' rigiment! The others had tort me faith an' zeal, but these tort me discipline. They are the best drilled lot in the army of the Lord, an' their drill masters run all the way from wet-nurses to old maids. For furagin'

an' free love for ev'rything they beats the worl', an' they pay mo'

'tenshun to their com'sary department than they do to their ord'nance. They'll march anywhere you want 'em, swim rivers or build bridges, fight on ship or sho', strong in camp-meetin's or battle songs, an' when they go, they go like clockwuck an' carry their dead with 'em!

"The only thing they need is an incubator, to keep up their hennery department an' supply their captains with the yellow legs of the land. Oh, but I love them big hearted Methodists!

"I foun' the Presbyterian phalanx a pow'ful army, steady, true an'

ole-fashioned, their powder strong of brimstone an' sulphur an' their ordnance antique. Why, they're usin' the same old mortars John Knox fired at the Popes, an' the same ole blunderbusses that scatter wide enough to cover all creation an' is as liable to kick an' kill anything in the rear as in front. They won't sleep in tents an'

nothin' suits 'em better'n being caught in a shower on the march. In battle they know no fear, for they know no ball is goin' to kill you if you're predistined to be hung. In the fight they know no stragglers an' fallers from grace.

"Ay, but they're brave. I jined 'em Sunday night after the battle of Shiloh, when I saw one of their captains stan' up amid the dead an'

dyin' of that b.l.o.o.d.y field, with the sh.e.l.ls from the Yankee gun-boats fallin' aroun' him. Standin' there tellin' of G.o.d an' His forgiveness, until many a po' dyin' soldier, both frien' an' foe, like the thief on the cross, found peace at the last hour.

"Befo' I jined the 'Piscopal corps I didn't think I cu'd stan'

'em--too high furlutin' for my raisin'. They seemed to pay mo'

attenshun to their uniforms than their ordnance, an' their drum-majors outshine any other churches' major generals. An'

drillin'? They can go through mo' monkey manoeuvers in five minutes than any other church can in a year. It's drillin'--drillin' with 'em all the time, an' red-tape an' knee breeches, an' when they ain't drillin' they're dancin'. They have signs an' countersigns, worl'

without end, ah-men. An' I've knowed many of them to put all his three months' pay into a Sunday uniform for dress parade.

"Weepons? They've got the fines' in the worl' an' they don't think they can bring down the Devil les' they shoot at him with a silver bullet. Everything goes by red-tape with 'em, an' the ban'-wagon goes in front.

"But I jined 'em," went on the old man, "an' I'll tell you why."

He paused--his voice trembled, and the good natured, bubbling humor, which had floated down the smooth channel of his talk, vanished as bubbles do when they float out into the deep pool beyond.

"Here," he said, lifting his arm, and showing the coat of the Captain of Artillery--"this is what made me jine 'em. This is the coat of Cap'n Tom, that saved my life at the risk of his own an' that was struck down at Franklin; an' no common man of clay, as I be, ever befo' had so G.o.d-like a man of marble to pattern after. I saw him in the thick of the fight with his guns parked an' double-shotted, stop our victorious rush almos' up to the river bank an' saved Grant's army from defeat an' capture. I was on the other side, an' chief of scouts for Albert Sidney Johnston, but I see him now in his blue Yankee coat, fightin' his guns like the hero that he was. I was foolish an' rushed in. I was captured an' in a prison pen, I drawed the black ball with 'leven others that was sentenced to be shot. It was Cap'n Tom who came to me in the early dawn of the day of the execution an' said: 'They shall not shoot you, Bishop--put on my blue coat an' go through the lines. I owe much to my country--I am giving it all.

"'I owe something to you. They shall not shoot you like a dog. I will tell my colonel what I have done to-morrow. If they think it is treason they may shoot me instead. I have nothing to live for--you, all. Go.'

"I have never seed him sence.

"We are mortals and must think as mortals. If we conceive of G.o.d, we can conceive of Him only as in human form. An' I love to think that the blessed an' brave an' sweet Christ looked like Cap'n Tom looked in the early dawn of that morning when he come an' offered himself,--captain that he was--to be shot, if need be, in my place--so gran', so gentle, so brave, so forgivin', so like a captain--so like G.o.d."

His voice had dropped lower and lower still. It died away in a sobbing murmur, as a deep stream purls and its echo dies in a deeper eddy.

"It was his church an' I jined it. This was his coat, an' so, let us pray."

CHAPTER VII

MARGARET ADAMS

There pa.s.sed out of the church, after the service, a woman leading a boy of twelve.

He was a handsome lad with a proud and independent way about him. He carried his head up and there was that calmness that showed good blood. There was even a haughtiness which was pathetic, knowing as the village did the story of his life.

The woman herself was of middle age, with neat, well-fitting clothes, which, in the smallest arrangement of pattern and make-up, bespoke a natural refinement.

Her's was a sweet face, with dark eyes, and in their depths lay the shadow of resignation.

Throughout the sermon she had not taken her eyes off the old man in the pulpit, and so interested was she, and so earnestly did she drink in all he said, that any one noticing could tell that, to her, the plain old man in the pulpit was more than a pastor.

She sat off by herself. Not one of them in all Cottontown would come near her.

"Our virtue is all we po' fo'ks has got--if we lose that we ain't got nothin' lef'," Mrs. Banks of gra.s.s-widow fame had once said, and saying it had expressed Cottontown's opinion.

Mrs. Banks was very severe when the question of woman's purity was up. She was the fastest woman at the loom in all Cottontown. She was quick, with a bright, deep-seeing eye. She had been pretty--but now at forty-five she was angular and coa.r.s.e-looking, with a sharp tongue.

The Bishop had smiled when he heard her say it, and then he looked at Margaret Adams sitting in the corner with her boy. In saying it, Mrs.

Banks had elevated her nose as she looked in the direction where sat the Magdalene.

The old man smiled, because he of all others knew the past history of Mrs. Banks, the mistress of the loom.

He replied quietly: "Well, I dun'no--the best thing that can be said of any of us in general is, that up to date, it ain't recorded that the Almighty has appinted any one of us, on account of our supreme purity, to act as chief stoner of the Universe. Mighty few of us, even, has any license to throw pebbles."

Of all his congregation there was no more devoted member than Margaret Adams--"an' as far as I kno'," the old man had often said, "if there is an angel on earth, it is that same little woman."

When she came into church that day, the old man noticed that even the little Hillites drew away from her. Often they would point at the little boy by her side and make faces at him. To-day they had carried it too far when one of them, just out in the church yard, pushed him rudely as he walked proudly by the side of his mother, looking straight before him, in his military way, and not so much as giving them a glance.

"Wood's-colt," sneered the boy in his ear, as he pushed him.

"No--thoroughbred"--came back, and with it a blow which sent the intruder backward on the gra.s.s.

Several old men nodded at him approvingly as he walked calmly on by the side of his mother.

"Jimmie--Jimmie!" was all she said as she slipped into the church.

"I guess you must be a new-comer," remarked Archie B. indifferently to the boy who was wiping the blood from his face as he arose from the ground and looked sillily around. "That boy Jim Adams is my pardner an' I could er tole you what you'd git by meddlin' with him.

He's gone in with his mother now, but him an' me--we're in alliance--we fights for each other. Feel like you got enough?"--and Archie B. got up closer and made motions as if to shed his coat.

The other boy grinned good naturedly and walked off.