Tipton Posey, Pop Wilkins, Bill Stiles, Doc Dust, Bill Wirrick, “the Jaundiced Viking,” “the Serpent’s Hiss,” and the other “regulars,” were all there. The vineyard looked ripe and inviting. Bill Stiles hailed the proselyters cordially as they approached the stronghold. “Say, Rat, whar you been buried all this time?” “Bill, they’s sump’n wonderful happened to me. I’ve got religion. A great light ’as come to me, an’ I’ve repented of all my sins. I’ve brought that gun an’ them catritches that I traded yer dog fer, an’ I want you to find that feller an’ give ’em back to ’im. I done wrong, an’ I want to square things up. Three or four times I sold Spot, knowin’ he’d come home, but I’ve spent the money. I’m goin’ to git some of my friends to pay back ev’ry cent, if I c’n find the fellers that bought ’im.” “That’ll make yer friends awful happy, Rat. Say, you cert’nly are a pippin! What done all this?” “Never mind, Bill, you’ll see the light some day. No man knows w’en the spirit cometh. Brother Butters an’ I are goin’ to hold some services out in front o’ the store this afternoon. We want all the chairs fixed nice an’ even. Brother Butters will preach, an’ I’m goin’ to line out hymn passages ’long with the sermon. We aint got no music, but me linin’ ’em out’ll be jest the same as if they was played in tunes, fer it’ll show what they are. I hope that some o’ you fellers’ll bite at what’s offered.” Rat was regarded with much concealed levity and mock respect, as he arranged the chairs in a curved row, and further developments were awaited with suppressed interest. Bill Stiles joyfully accepted the center of the row. Tipton Posey and the Serpent’s Hiss were at the ends. After the chairs were filled the rest of the audience sat along the edge of the platform and dangled its feet. Brother Butters and Brother Hyatt brought out a box, which they placed on the ground about twenty feet from the audience. Brother Butters thought that a little distance would add dignity and solemnity. During the preparations the similarity of the chair arrangement on the platform to that in the minstrel show at the county seat, which nearly everybody present had attended during the preceding winter, occurred to Tipton Posey. “Mr. Brown!” he called to Bill Stiles in the center. “Yes, Mr. Bones!” responded Bill, instantly catching the spirit of the occasion. “Mr. Brown, why is this congregation like a ten penny nail?” “I don’t know, Mr. Bones, why this congregation is like a ten penny nail. Why _is_ this congregation like a ten penny nail?” “Because, Mr. Brown, it’s goin’ to be driven in,” sagely replied Mr. Bones, with a significant glance at the gathering rain clouds overhead. “Gentlemen, please shed yer hats!” said Brother Hyatt, as he pounded for order on the box with a carrot that he had taken from a basket in the store. “Brother Butters will now lead in prayer.”