Shortly after Judge K. left Mr. Marmor’s office (which adjoined his dwelling), Capt. Doc, Lieut. Watta, Mr. Springer and Rev. Mr. Jackson (the Legislative member who had delivered the oration on the 4th), entered. Mr. Jackson was much excited, and walked up and down the room, interlarding questions and ejaculations and prayers quite promiscuously; unheeding the kindly solicitude of a bright little boy of five years, with shining auburn ringlets, and great, soft, spiritual eyes, which looked eagerly towards “the Elder’s” face as he went tugging a large Bible back and forth behind him. “Ha! Jackson, hear that boy now,” said Doc. “The child is the best Christian of the two, come to the pinch.” “What? What was you saying Doc?” asked the Reverend Honorable. “Why, just see what that boy has got, and hear what he’s saying. _He_ don’t scare worth a cent. Do you Bub? You’ll make a soldier some day, won’t you?” “No sir, I reckon I won’t, cause soldiers kill. ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ That’s the sixth commandment.” “What about the book, sonny,” asked Elder Jackson. “My Sunday school teacher says when I’m afraid, I must ask God what to do; and this is His letter, He wrote it. It’s big,” tugging to raise it to the level of the man’s hand. The Elder took the Bible, sat down, drew the child to his side, opened it at random, and read, Isaiah xviii: 7: “In that time shall the present be brought unto the Lord of hosts of a people scattered and peeled, and from a people terrible from their beginning hitherto; a nation meted out and trodden under foot, whose land the rivers have spoiled, to the place of the name of the Lord of hosts, the Mount Zion.” He closed the book muttering, “Yes, the freshet came clear up to the church, clear up to the church.” “The whole matter is that the Bakers are determined to break up this drilling,” said Marmor. “You’re too good a drill master, Doc. The old man himself told me that it was wrong, and that the niggers shouldn’t have no militia company, and that it was wrong for you to drill by moonlight. I told him that the white militia over here in Georgia drilled on the streets every night. ‘Well, it’s wrong for the niggers to drill at _all_,’ says he.”