There was a reverential attention accorded him while he spoke, his rotund voice rising into the elocutionary effects of rural exhortation, and ringing out into the quiet evening air. Silence succeeded in the group, and when presently one of the men coughed and cleared his throat, and a slight motion made itself apparent amongst them, it was like that gradual recall to mundane sentiments and stir which follows with a jarring impression after praise or united prayer. Parson Donnard, not unmindful of effect, was not slow to take advantage of this opportunity of leaving the field with all his colors flying. And indeed there were evidences of disintegration in the crowd momentarily becoming more marked. Gaps in the row of horses intimated how many had already gone; continually the tramp of fresh departures rose on the air, and the hoof-beats sounded hollow and with cavernous echoes from the little bridge beyond the forge. Here and there in the valley, or where the winding road up the mountain-side became visible amongst the dense leafage, a great canvas-covered wagon lumbered along, catching the roseate glow of the sunset. Certain lively youths, not to be subdued by any contemplation of tragedy, spiritual, political, or material, could be heard a long way, although out of sight, whooping and hilariously shouting to one another, while all the solemn gray crags assumed a spurious note of jocose and boisterous flippancy, and called back and forth across the valley with a weird mockery. Jube, the parson’s son, shambling home a half hour later, perhaps, than his father, his hands in his pockets, his hat askew, paused ever and anon to listen to this mingled fantastic outcry; discerning familiar tones sometimes in the voices of his friends themselves, sometimes in the frenzied mimicry of the crags. He would stand motionless till the sound died away for the nonce, judging from its _bizarre_ fluctuations how far the process of inebriation had gone; then shake his head reprehensively,—for Jube was a man of sober theory,—and pursue his way, brought to a halt again only when all the peaceful valley and all the staid and rigid rocks were again declaiming in drunken mirth. This dual possibility of standpoint enabled Jube to dwell in great amity and unity of spirit with his solemn and ascetic parents, and yet continue the cherished soul of mirth amongst the wild young mountaineers whose society was so dear to him. In one sense he devoutly believed and had formally accepted all those wise saws condemnatory of levity and threatening retribution. He could listen with an impersonal conviction to prophecies of impending wrath for those who were merry without cause now, and who should presently gnash their teeth with ample cause.