“It was this Doctor Ely,” returned the General, “of whom I was thinking. I was remembering certain severities of judgment towards him long ago. I heard him preach, yet could give him no credit for sincerity. He impressed me as one who looked often in the glass and seldom from the window. He was friendly, affable, and, I think, honest; and yet I liked him no more than I like that reverend cringer who was just now here. I well recall saying to this Doctor Ely--probably I had him in my mind's eye at the time, and it hurt him, too--that he who was professionally good would never be very good, nor he who was excellent for a salary offer an example of the best excellence. It may be that my natural distrust of preachers is, after all, nothing save my natural fear of them. You have not forgotten how I told you I feared men of peace. That is true; I fear folk who profess peace as a principle--your Quaker and your preacher--as I fear and fall back before the inhuman, or as children fear a ghost. It is all to be accounted for perhaps, in the differing natures of folk. One man has a genius for peaceful while another's bent is for war, and each will misunderstand the other's motives. There can be little in common and less of trust between them, since they will live as far apart as black and white. It is, I say, quite natural--war and peace--wolf and sheep. I've no doubt, now,” concluded the General, a smile beginning to show, “that to your wolf on the hill, your grazing sheep down in the valley is a mighty suspicious character.” CHAPTER VI--THE STORM GATHERS AGAINST PEG Those next few weeks went by in a tumbling procession that was more like mob violence than aught orderly or sequential. The town was overrun of folk. It was a climbing case of everybody under foot--everybody stepped on one, and, in compensation, one stepped on everybody. Jim was driven to remark concerning the collecting tangle of humanity, and the crush and crowd and jostle of it. The sage Jim was speaking to his own defence, being indicted for some neglect of me. “'Pears like, Marse Major,” said Jim, soothingly, “you-all must jes' wrastle along somehow until dish yere pop'lace begins to abrogate. I'm doin' d' bes' I knows how; but she shorely is a time for every 'possum to learn to hang by his own tail.” “What do you mean by 'abrogate?'” I was willing to be amused at the expense of the erroneous Jim. “You don't tell me, Marse Major, that you-all don't know what 'abrogate' means?” Jim imitated astonishment. “Why, a thing abrogates when it beds itse'f down--kind o' quiles itse'f up like a moccasin snake.” It was impressive, the throng in the streets--a multitude hungry for office--a multitude it would ask a miracle to feed and fill. The whole country was come to town, the place blazed with Jackson badges, every face shone with victory. It was a pretorian band, and had borne its beloved captain into power on its shields. It was present now for jubilation and for spoil.