The sermon that evening was not calculated to create a very profound impression. It was more saturated with Irish humor than with real gospel truth. The time for seriousness had not yet arrived. But the axe was laid at the root of the tree, and the kingdom was nearer at hand than any of them supposed. As a fisher of men, the preacher was still baiting for the fish. The next night he took for his theme the Judgment. This was the occasion for solemn and serious facts. He turned loose all the artillery at his command in storming the batteries of infidelity and sin, and felt the presence of the Spirit in directing the message. As he neared the close of his discourse, he turned to the doctor. The wind had been taken out of the old man’s sails; his face was in his hands and he was weeping bitterly. “What’s the matter, doctor?” he shouted, in a strong, firm voice, striving to make his words as impressive as possible. The doctor did not answer. “Get down on your knees,” he commanded as one who spoke with authority. And the great exponent of infidelity went down, and his example was followed by a number of others. He wrestled in agony and prayer until near midnight, when the light broke in upon his long benighted soul—and the fish was caught. Such demonstrations had never been seen in Hell’s Half Acre as took place in the rude school house that night. The tide had surely turned and the redemption was at hand. As he dismissed the service, Newgent announced that he was ready to go home with the first man who invited him. A tall, threadbare, weather-beaten fellow accepted the challenge. But when the preacher started to go, he explained that he didn’t mean it. “I can’t take care of you; I haven’t any room,” he protested. “Go ahead,” said the preacher, “I can sleep on dry coon skins and eat roasted potatoes.” And he went in spite of the protests of his host. The man was surely honest in his protest. He dwelt in a hut built of round poles. In one corner was a badly cracked stove that had long done service for both cooking and heating purposes. Two large box-like arrangements partly filled with leaves gathered from the forest, together with some ragged covering, served as feeble apologies for beds, and between these beds was a barrel of whisky. Though it was past midnight, the wife was sitting up. She was scantily clad, yet her face, though careworn, revealed a high degree of intelligence, bearing evidence that she had seen better days. Two little girls whose appearance harmonized only too well with their wretched surroundings, completed the family circle. As Newgent entered this hovel his eyes rested upon such a picture of destitution as he had never seen. The whisky barrel, however, told the whole story.