Miss Howard played a half-dozen hymns and they all sang, then Gincy, in a clear, sweet voice, read the lesson. Miss Howard was explaining it when the people began to gather for the baptizing. They came on horseback, in jolt wagons, and afoot. Not far from the house the branch widened until in spring it was almost a pond. Here, under the shade of a dozen walnut and tulip trees, a motley crowd was assembling and the folks inside the church house hurried out to join them. Once outside, they saw Miss Clark coming up the pike, her horse trotting briskly. They waited at the gate. It wanted only a few minutes of the time and the horse must be unharnessed. Joe dropped the bars and Rafael helped Miss Clark out of the carriage. “You go on with the rest,” he said in a low tone, “we’ll be along after a bit.” Together they went down the little slope, its edge crowded with women and children. One lone cottonwood shadowed the pool in its deepest place, stretching mottled arms almost to the opposite bank. Half its roots were bare and white, washed by the spring torrents. Each moment the gathering was augmented by fresh arrivals. Joe and Raphael came up silently and stood near Miss Clark. A gaunt mountain preacher whispered a few words to her, his face showing some perplexity. She turned to the boys. “Raphael, won’t you and Joe run up to the house? In the woodshed you will find a shovel and hoe. Bring them here as quickly as you can.” Five minutes later the boys came panting back, bearing the required utensils. Two brawny mountain men took them, waded out into the shallow water, and began digging. “They’re making it deeper,” said Nancy Jane. “My, but won’t it be roily!” While the men worked the strange audience waited. Near the water’s edge stood the candidates for baptism—two girls about seventeen, a woman, and a middle-aged man with wiry black hair and dark, smouldering eyes. He was short and stocky, a man of force, and—if roused—of fury. A long carryall was toiling up the hill. Joe saw it first. “It’s the college team,” he whispered to Miss Howard. “There must be a dozen people.” The teacher nodded. “Professor Butler’s going to do the baptizing; the rest came along to sing.” Already they could hear the strains of “Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me,” the rich, full tones swelling through the quiet autumn air as the people in the carryall approached. One by one they joined the waiting crowd. The digging had stopped and there was a hush of expectancy as the minister made his way toward the waiting candidates. He spoke to them quietly, then turned until his glance swept the assemblage.