Peppers broke into a hoarse laugh and clapped his hand on Marks's shoulder. "You see, do you?" he roared; "you see now, my laddie. Didn't I tell you that you couldn't stop runnin' water with talk?" The suggestion was dangerously broad, and Marks turned it. "I recall," he said, "no conversation with you about running water. That cider must be up in your hair." "Lemuel, my boy," said the jovial Peppers, "the Lord killed Ananias for lyin' an' you don't look strong." "I'm strong enough to keep my mouth shut," snapped Marks. "Fiddle-de-dee," said Peppers, "the Lord has sometimes opened an ass's mouth when He wanted to." "He didn't have to open it in your case," said Marks. "But He will have to shut it in my case," replied Peppers; "you're a little too light for the job." The cider was reaching pretty well into the Reverend Peppers. This Marks saw, and he was too shrewd to risk a quarrel. He burst into a laugh. Peppers began to hammer the table with his stone pitcher and call for Roy. The tavern-keeper came in a moment, a short little man with a weary smile. Peppers tossed him the pitcher. "Fill her up," he roared, "I follow the patriarch Noah. He was the only one of the whole shootin' match who stood in with the Lord, an' he got as drunk as a b'iled owl." Then he turned to us. "Will you have a swig, boys?" We declined, and he struck the table with his fist. "Ho! ho," he roared; "is every shingle on the meetin'-house dry?" Then he marked the hunchback sitting by the wall, and pointed his finger at him. "Come, there, you camel, wet your hump." That a fight was on, I had not the slightest doubt in the world. I caught my breath in a gasp. I saw Jud loosen his arm in his coat-sleeve. Ump was as sensitive as any cripple, and he was afraid of no man. To my astonishment he smiled and waved his hand. "I'm cheek to your jowl, Parson," he said; "set out the O-be-joyful." "Hey, Roy!" called Peppers, "bring another pitcher for Humpty Dumpty." Then he kicked the table with his great cowhide boots and began to bellow: "Zaccheus he clum a tree His Lord an' Master for to see; The limb did break an' he did fall, An' he didn't git to see his Lord at all." Ump and I were seated by the wall, tilted back in the tavern-keeper's split-bottom chairs, while Jud leaned against the door. The rhyme set the Parson's head to humming, and he began to pat his leg. Then he spied Jud. "Hey, there! Beelzebub," he roared, "can you dust the puncheons?" "When the devil's a-fiddlin'," said Jud. "Ho, the devil," hummed the Parson. "As I set fiddlin' on a tree The devil shot his gun at me. He missed my soul an' hit a limb, An' I don't give a damn for him." He slapped his leg to emphasise the "damn." At this moment Roy came in with the two stone pitchers, handed one to Ump and put the other down by the boisterous Parson. Peppers turned to him. "Got a fiddle?" he asked. "I think there's an old stager about," said Roy.