“Thar will be a sight less whisky drunk about hyar ef that small-sized preacher-man kin keep up the holt he hev tuk on temperance sermons,” said Mrs. Yates a trifle triumphantly. Then with a clouding brow: “I could wish he war bigger. I ain’t faultin’ the ways o’ Providence in nowise, but it do ’pear ter me ez one David and G’liath war enough fur the tales o’ religion ’thout hevin’ our own skimpy leetle shepherd and the big Philistines of the distillers at loggerheads--whenst flat peebles from the brook would be a mighty pore dependence agin a breech-loading rifle. G’liath’s gun war more’n apt ter hev been jes’ a old muzzle-loader, fur them war the times afore the war fur the Union; but these hyar moonshiners always hev the best an’ newest shootin’-irons that Satan kin devise--not knowin’ when some o’ the raiders o’ the revenue force will kem down on ’em--an’ that makes a man keen ter be among the accepted few in the new quirks o’ firearms. A mighty small man the preacher-man ’pears ter be! If it war the will o’ Providence I could wish fur a few more pounds o’ Christian pastor, considering the size an’ weight ez hev been lavished on them distillers.” “It air scandalous fur a church member ter be a gittin’ drunk an’ foolin’ round the still-house an’ sech,” said Joel Ruggles, “an’ ef ye hed ever hed any religion, Mark, ye’d hev knowed that ’thout hevin’ ter be told.” “An’ it’s scandalous fur a church member to drink whisky at all,” said Mrs. Yates, sharply, knitting off her needle, and beginning another round. A woman’s ideas of reform are always radical. Joel Ruggles did not eagerly concur in this view of the abstinence question; he said nothing in reply. “Thar hain’t sech a mighty call ter drink whisky yander ter the still,” remarked young Yates, irrelevantly, feeling perhaps the need of a plea of defense. “It ain’t the whisky ez draws me thar. The gang air a-hangin’ round an’ a-talkin’ an’ a-laughin’ an’ a-tellin’ tales ’bout bar-huntin’ an’ sech. An’ thar’s the grist mill a haffen mile an’ better through the woods.” “Thar’s bad company at the still, an’ it’s a wild beast ez hev got a fang ez bites sharp an’ deep, an’ some day ye’ll feel it, ez sure ez ye’re a born sinner,” said Mrs. Yates, looking up solemnly at him over her spectacles. “I never see no sense in men a-drinkin’ of whisky,” she continued, after a pause, during which she counted her stitches. “The wild critters in the woods hev got more reason than ter eat an’ drink what’ll pizen ’em--but, law! it always did ’pear to me ez they war ahead in some ways of the men, what kin talk an’ hev got the hope of salvation.”