were close-lipped, somber. The men were sparely
built, with high, prominent cheek bones, long, hollow
cheeks and shaven mouths touched with sardonic
humor, under undented, black felt hats. There were
an appreciable number of invalids and leaden-faced
idiots.

The way grew wilder, the natural forms shrunk,
the valley became a small plain of broken, rocky
hillocks matted with thorny bushes, surrounded by
marshes of rank grass, flags, half-grown osiers.
The vehicles, drawn into a single way, crowded together,
progressed slowly. Gordon saw in the back
of the buggy before him two whiskey jugs. Some
one far ahead began to sing a revival hymn, and it
ran along the line of carriages like a trail of ignited
powder. A deep bass caught it behind Gordon
Makimmon, then the piercing soprano of a woman
farther back.

The camp meeting spread over a small, irregular
plateau surrounded by swamp and sluggish streams.
Gordon turned off the road, and drove over a rough,
short descent to a ledge of solid ground by a stream
and fringe of willows. The spring torrents had
subsided, leaving the grass, the willows, covered
with a grey, crackling coat of mud; the air had a
damp, fetid smell; beyond, the swamp bubbled gaseously.
The close line of hitched teams disappeared
about an elbow of the thicket; groups of men

[[185]]

p184 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p185w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p186

v?