“Poor fellow!” she whispered back, “he is making fresh resolutions to quit drinking, I suppose. I'm so sorry for him. He tries harder to reform for the sake of his wife and children than any man I know. Sometimes I am afraid he never will succeed.” “Perhaps not,” said Floyd. “You see, I know what it is, Cynthia.” “You?” “Why, of course, it almost got me down once. There was a point in my life when I could have been blown one way or the other as easily as a feather. I don't want to pose as being better than I am, and I confess that I am actually afraid at times that it may again get the best of me. God only knows how a man has to fight a thing like that after it has once become a habit. As long as matters are like they are now, I can hold my own, I am sure; but I actually believe if I had to meet some absolutely crushing blow to all my hopes and aspirations, I'd--I'd really be as weak as Pole is.” “I don't believe it,” said Cynthia, raising her frank eyes to his. “I don't believe a word of it,” she repeated, firmly. “You don't? Well, perhaps your faith will save me.” The prayer over, the preacher next called on all who felt that they needed special spiritual help in any particular trial, affliction, or trouble to come forward and give him their hands. Several men and women responded, and among them, to Floyd's growing astonishment, was Pole Baker. He stood erect at his seat for an instant, and then, with his long arms swinging at his sides, he walked up and shook hands stiffly with the minister. “You were right about it,” Floyd said to Cynthia. “I reckon he's making new resolutions. But where is the fellow going?” They saw Pole, after releasing the preacher's hand, turn out at the side of the arbor, and slowly stalk away towards the spot where Floyd had hitched his horse. “Perhaps he's going to start back home,” Cynthia said. “It's getting late and cloudy, and he has a long walk before him.” “That's it,” said Floyd. “And footing it through the woods as dark as it is even now is no simple matter; though Pole really has the instincts of a red Indian. But I don't understand it, for he is not headed towards home.” There was another earnest talk from another preacher, and then Hillhouse closed the meeting with a prayer. Leaving Cynthia at the arbor, Floyd went down for his horse. He was not far from the buggy when he saw Pole Baker rise from a flat stone upon which he had been seated. Without looking at him, Pole went to the hitch-rein and unfastened it, and led the restive animal around in the direction he was to go. “Much obliged to you, old man,” Floyd said, deeply touched by the action. “I could have done that myself.” “I know it, Nelson,” Pole responded; “but I've got some'n' to say to you, an' as it is late an' may take a minute or two, I thought I'd save all the time I could an' not keep yore little partner waitin'.” “Oh, you want to see me, do you?”