in a rapid sing-song by the circuit rider, Gordon saw
her flash her gaze about the table, the room; and its
somber, resentful fire, its restrained fury of impatience,
of disdain, of hatred, coming from that fragile,
silent shape, startled him.

The Universalist minister addressed the company
in sonorous periods, which, however, did not
prevent him from assimilating a prodigious amount
of food. Between forkfuls of chicken baked in macaroni,
"I rejoice that my ministrations are acceptable
to Him," he pronounced; "three souls Wednesday
last, two adults and a child on Sunday."

The aged evangelist could scarcely contain his
contempt at this meager tally. "What would you
say, Augustus," he demanded in eager, tremulous
triumph, "to two hundred lost souls roaring up to
the altar, casting off their wickedness like snakes
shed their skins? Hey? Hey? What would you
say to two hundred dipped in the blood of the lamb
and emerging white as the Dove? Souls ain't what
they were," he muttered pessimistically; "it used to
be you could hear the Redeemed a spell of miles
from the church, now they're as confidential as a
man borrowing money. The Lord will in no wise
acknowledge the faint in spirit." Suddenly,
"Glory! Glory!" he shouted, and his old eyes
flamed with the inextinguishable blaze of his
enthusiasm.

[[131]]

p130 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p131w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p132

v?