“He saw you--holding my hand.” Cynthia would not say _kissing_. The word had risen to her tongue, but she instinctively discarded it. “He's been almost like a brother to me He has a strong character, and I admire him very much. I always forget his chief weakness; he never seems to me to be a drunkard. He has the highest respect for women of any man I ever knew. I'm sorry--just now--” “Oh, never mind Pole,” Floyd broke in, consolingly. “He's been a young man himself, and he knows how young people are. Now, if you begin to worry over that little thing, I shall be miserable. I set out to make you have a pleasant drive.” XV AN hour later they arrived at the bush-arbor, a rough shed upon which rested a roof of freshly cut boughs of trees and on which there were benches without backs. The ground was strewn with straw, and at the far end was a crude platform and table where several ministers sat. Leaving his companion near the main entrance, Floyd led his horse some distance away before he could find a suitable place to hitch him. Returning, he found a seat for himself and Cynthia near the rear. They had not been there long before Pole Baker slouched in, warm and flushed from his walk, and sat directly across the aisle from them. Floyd smiled and called Cynthia's attention to him, but Pole stared straight at the pulpit and neither looked to the right nor left. Floyd noticed a farmer bend over and speak to him, and was surprised to see that Pole made no response whatever. With a puzzled expression on his face, the farmer sank back into his seat. The meeting was opened with prayer and a hymn. Then Hillhouse, who had arrived a little late, came in, a Bible and hymn-book in hand, and went forward and sat with the other ministers. Floyd noted the shifting look of dissatisfaction on his thin face, and his absent-minded manner, as he exchanged perfunctory greetings with those around him. “Poor fellow!” Floyd said to himself, “he's hard hit, and no wonder.” He glanced at the fair face at his elbow and thrilled from head to foot. She was certainly all that a woman could possibly be. Then there was a rousing sermon from the Rev. Edward Richardson, an eloquent mountain evangelist. His pleadings bore immediate fruit. Women began to shed tears, and sob, and utter prayers aloud. This was followed by tumultuous shouting, and the triumphant evangelist closed his talk by asking all who felt like it to kneel where they were and receive prayers for their benefit. Half of the congregation fell on their knees. “Did you see that?” Floyd whispered to Cynthia, and he directed her attention to Pole Baker, who was kneeling on the ground, his great, heavily shod feet under the seat in front of him, his elbows on his own bench, and his big, splaying hands pressed over his eyes.