There is persuasiveness in a well-rounded muscular development. Some people are impervious to argument and some to courtesy, but few will fail to respond to the persuasiveness of a strong man with a mighty arm. Now I am not attempting to prove that this is best, nor would I care even to leave that intimation, but I remember the days when the rod properly applied was far more productive of good than all the homilies--in fact, the homilies were heard only because of the birch that, like Damocles' sword, was ever waiting to fall. But this is not autobiography. Some men remain children, and only the potentials that produced results in childhood will aid to fruitage in their manhood. Corporal punishment was effective for good then, and if you read the next incident you will realize that it has its force after they have passed through the vicissitudes of youth and have attained the physical weight of manhood. The bunkhouse meeting was in full swing. The singing was hearty, strong and free. When the lumberjacks wish to sing they produce a volume that is inspiring in spite of discords. Well, these men in Parker's Camp felt the spirit of song--but not all of them. An undertone of discontent came from a group of Frenchmen who sat together at the end of the shack. They did not relish the Protestant religion and intended to show their indigestion. The majority of the camp was in harmony with the preacher, but a small minority can easily turn peace into turmoil. [Illustration: A CAMP CREW] As the service progressed the opposition grew louder and remarks came freely from the French end of the house. Mr. Higgins went to the disturbers while the rest were singing and requested them to allow the others to enjoy the service. A second time the preacher solicited their sympathy and all went well until the address began. As the missionary proceeded in his message the rumble of the disturbers grew in volume until the address could not be heard. Patience was no longer a virtue, but an assistant to evil. Rolling up his sleeves, for he was preaching with his coat off, the minister left his barrel pulpit and visited the Frenchmen, not as an angel of mercy, but as a son of Mars. Taking a position that could not be misunderstood, he addressed them: "You pea soup eaters will do one of two things," said the brawny evangelist, "you are going to listen to the gospel or take a thrashing. Speak up, which do you want?" "Throw them through the roof, Pilot, we'll see fair play," cried a sympathizer. "Take them one at a time, they won't last long," came from another. "Give them both the thrashing and the preaching," said the swamper. "You've got to puncture the hide of that outfit to get any decency into their heads."