“Don't begin to poke fun at me,” said Mrs. Lamp-son. “I know I didn't do as well as some of the others, but I did the best I could, because I felt it was my duty.” “I was not going to make fun,” said Miller, soothingly; “but it seems mighty strange to think of you standing up before all the rest, and--” “It was not such a very hard thing to do,” said the lady, who was older than her brother by ten years. She had gray hairs at her temples, and looked generally as if she needed out-door exercise and some diversion to draw her out of herself. Rayburn helped himself to the deliciously browned, fried chicken, in its bed of cream gravy, and a hot puffy biscuit. “And how does Mr. Lapsley, the regular preacher, like this innovation?” he questioned. “I reckon you all pay the new man a fee for stirring things up?” “Yes; we agreed to give him two hundred dollars, half of which goes to an orphan asylum he is building. Oh, I don't think brother Lapsley minds much, but of course it must affect him a little to see the great interest brother Maynell has roused, and I suppose some are mean enough to think he could have done the same, if he had tried.” “No, it's clearly a case of a new broom,” smiled Rayburn, buttering his biscuit. “Old Lap might get up there and groan and whine for a week and not touch a mourner with a ten-foot pole. The other chap knows his business, and part of his business is not to stay long enough to wear out his pet phrases or exhaust his rockets. I'm sorry for Lapsley; he's paid a regular salary, and is not good for any other sort of work, and this shows him up unfairly. In the long run, I believe he 'll get as many into the church as the other man, and they will be more apt to stick. Sister, that's the trouble with these tin-pan revivals. The biggest converts backslide. I reckon you are working over old material now.” Mrs. Lampson frowned and her lip stiffened. “I don't like your tone in speaking of such things,” she said. “Indeed, Rayburn, I have been deeply mortified in the last week by some remarks that have been made about you. I didn't intend to mention them, but you make me do it.” “Oh, I knew they wouldn't let me rest,” said Miller; “they never do in their annual shake-ups.” “Brother, you are looked on by nearly all religious workers in town as a dangerous young man--I mean dangerous to the boys who are just growing up, because they all regard you as a sort of standard to shape their conduct by. They see you going to balls and dances and playing cards, and they think it is smart and will not be interested in our meetings. They see that you live and seem to prosper under it, and they follow in your footsteps. I am afraid you don't realize the awful example you are setting. Brother May-nell has heard of you and asked me about you the other day. Some people think you have been in Atlanta all this time to avoid the meeting.”