The next day was Saturday, and the beginning of the regular monthly "meetin’" at Zion Hill church. Everybody in the settlement who could, attended services that day. The Morgans were all there, even ’Lizabeth, and ’Zeki’l sat in his accustomed place, apparently unmindful of the cold, hostile glances and whispers around him. Through open doors and windows shone golden sunlight, floated spicy odors from the woods surrounding all but the front of the church, which faced the public road; and vagrant bees mingled their lazy hum with the champing of bits and the stamping of iron-shod hoofs in the thickets, where the mules and the horses were tied. It was a quiet but alert congregation. A kind of expectancy—of suspense—filled the air. No telling what might happen before the day was over. The preacher made the robbery the theme of his discourse, and there were nods and approving looks when he referred to the punishment laid up for those who persisted in doing evil. It was a fitting finale that just before the benediction was pronounced a small cavalcade rode up to the church door—the sheriff, two deputies, and Miller. A thrill ran through the church, a rustle, a whisper, and the preacher cried aloud to the sheriff: "What do you want, Brother Mangum?" "’Zeki’l Morgan." "Here he is! here he is!" cried more than one voice, and men rose to their feet and laid eager hands on the unresisting ’Zeki’l. "What do you want him for?" cried ’Lijy Morgan, rising from his seat in the deacons’ corner. "What’s he done?" "Helped to rob the store." "We’ve said so, we’ve said so, ever since it happened!" a chorus of stern but triumphant voices exclaimed. "Bring up the witness ag’in’ him, the man that says he did it," said ’Lijy, advancing to the open space before the pulpit. "No man has said out an’ out that he helped to do it, but Miller—" "It’s a lie," cried ’Lijy, loud enough to be heard beyond the church door. ’Zeki’l’s eyes were fixed anxiously, warningly, on his brother, and once he tried to throw off the hands holding him. "Prove it, then!" a taunting voice cried out. "I will," said ’Lijy, though he grew pale, and trembled strangely. "A more honest man than ’Zeki’l Morgan never lived." "What do you know of him?" Again ’Zeki’l strove to free himself, but failed. "’Lijy!" he called imploringly, "’Lijy, ’Lijy, mind what you say!" ’Lijy looked across at him. "I will mind the truth, ’Zeki’l." He turned to the congregation.