One morning about a week later as Elithe was sweeping the door steps she saw an ox-cart coming up the street. Beside it was Bill Stokes flourishing his whip and calling loudly to the oxen, as if to attract her attention. Half sitting, half reclining in the cart was Mr. Pennington, pale and thin and looking about him with a good deal of curiosity and interest. The moment he caught sight of Elithe his face brightened, and, taking off his hat, he bowed and kept it off, as if in the presence of royalty, until the house was passed. As the Rectory stood a little back from the street Elithe did not speak to him or Stokes, but stood watching the cart until it stopped in front of the hotel, which the miners always called the _tavern_, and whose sign, a big board nailed across a post, bore the ambitious name, “The Samona,” in imitation of larger places. Mr. Pennington was evidently expected, for the landlord and bartender came out to meet him, and Elithe noticed that he walked rather feebly as he entered the house. In the course of half an hour, Stokes, having disposed of his passenger and oxen and refreshed his inner man with a glass of beer, appeared at the door of the kitchen, where Elithe was washing the breakfast dishes. Sitting down on the step and wiping his face with his handkerchief, he began: “Wall, how’s all the folks? Is the parson to home?” The _parson_ answered for himself, as he entered the room, followed by his wife, who, as was her habit, sank into the nearest chair. “You look kinder shiffless this morning,” Stokes said to her. “Well, I feel shiffless, too, and no wonder, routed out before light to get that New York chap over here. Seems’s ef he couldn’t wait another minit. He’s picked up wonderful in a week, but says he’s done with diggin’; tain’t his forte, and I guess ’taint; hands too white and soft. He wanted to get here the worst kind, so as to be near the Post Office and church, he said. As’t how often you had meetin’. He’s got awful pious since Miss Elithe was there.” Here a knowing wink from Stokes swept the room, but was lost on Elithe, who kept on with her dishes while Stokes continued: “I do b’lieve he means to reform, and the way he’s put us through that Magnificat is a caution. We know it now from stem to stern, with all its whirligigs. He’s signed the pledge, too, promisin’ solemnly not to touch no more spiritual liquors.” “Where did he get a pledge to sign?” Mr. Hansford asked, and Stokes replied: “Oh, he made one on a piece of paper. Wrote it himself and I signed as a witness, and so did Lizy Ann.” “Where is it?” was Mr. Hansford’s next question.