“I wish I had never heard of the silver. I wish I had let it alone,” said Rathburn, from out his moody reflections. “That ain’t goin’ ter do ye no good,” declared Baintree suddenly. “Ye’ll go right back ter it, same ez a frog ter water. Them ez hanker arter it hev got the love of it rooted in ’em. Hey, Lord! I ’lowed wunst ez I hed enough o’ it. I ’lowed thar war a everlastin’ curse on it. Arter Sam’l Keale, he jes’ vamosed like he done, an’ they ’rested me, an’ I hed ter go ter jail an’ be tried fur my life—an’ paid everything I hed in the world, even my gun, an’ my pistol, ter the lawyer, fur defendin’ me—I ’lowed ’twar kase I hed hankered arter the silver ez the Lord hid away in the hills. An’ I didn’t keer no mo’ fur it then. Not even whenst ye kem ter physic me, an’ seen that piece o’ float I hed kerried jes’ by accident in my pocket. Not even whenst ye ’peared so streck of a heap, an’ kep’ sayin’ how rich,—how rich ’twar. Naw, sir! An’ whenst I kem home, I tuk cornsider’ble pains ter git religion. I ’lowed I warn’t goin’ ter gin the Lord no mo’ excuse fur goin’ back on me. I got religion an’ sot out ter save my soul. I hed hed enough o’ sarchin’ arter silver an’ hevin’ nuthin’ ter kem o’ it, so I hed sot out a-sarchin’ arter salvation. I wanted ter find suthin’ this time! I wanted ter be a prosperous saint o’ the Lord, an’ what with knowin’ how ter read an’ write, I mought git ’lected ter office some day, ef I stood well in the church. Couldn’t find salvation, nuther! This hyar Teck Jepson kem a-pouncin’ down on me at the very water’s aidge, whenst I war a-goin’ ter be baptized an’ wash my sins away, an’ git the right sperit ter lead my feet ter heaven, an’ he war a-totin’ Sam’l’s old gyarments what I hid ter be rid of ’em, an’ Pa’son renounced me. So now I hev got ter go ter hell—but hevin’ lived sech a life in Brumsaidge ez hev been my sheer, I reckon ’twon’t be sech a turr’ble change ez most folks find it.” “Come, Jake, you don’t have to be baptized to go to heaven!” exclaimed Rathburn. He was looking at his fireside companion with an anxious commiseration upon his deprecatory, flushed face, despite the laugh that fluctuated over it. But the rustic, however he may be awakened to a sense of his ignorance of mundane matters, stoutly maintains all the arrogations of a spiritual adept. The mountaineer sneered the theological proposition scornfully away. “_Ye_ dunno nuthin’ ’bout’n it—I hev hearn _ye_ say things ez makes me ’low ye ain’t haffen a b’liever; ye ’pear ter sense religious things mighty porely! Ef ye read the Bible mo’, an’ yer g’ology an’ min’rology, ez ye call ’em, less, ye’d be mo’ able ter entertain the sperit, ef ye ever war ter hev a chance.”