On the procession went--so slowly as to be almost sinister in its movement. And a strange sound rose from it and seemed to float and hover over it like a weird, invisible, acoustic canopy. Three hundred voices, men's, women's and children's, rose and fell, rose and fell--at first in a medley of scoffings, laughter, sullen murmurs, earnest dispute and children's prattle--a strange composite sound indeed! But as the minutes passed and the mass moved on and stopped as the Flopper paused to rest, and moved on and stopped and moved on again, gradually this changed, very gradually, not abruptly, but as though the scoffings and the laughter were dying away almost imperceptibly in the distance. For as the Flopper stopped to rest, those near him gazed upon his face, distorted, full of muscular distress, sweat pouring from his forehead, pain and suffering written in every lineament--and drew back whispering into the crowd, giving place to others until all had seen. And so the strange sound from this strange congregation grew lower, until it was a sort of breathless, long-sustained and wavering note, a prescience, a premonition of something to come, a ghastly mockery or a tragedy to befall, until it was an awe-struck murmuring thing. Some spoke to him now and in pity offered to get him a horse and wagon, offered even to carry him--but the Flopper shook his head. "'Tain't goin' to be but a few minutes now," he panted in an exalted voice, "before I'm cured--I got de faith to know dat--I got de faith." And the crippled lad upon the crutch beside him urged him on. The boy's face was strained and eager, full of mingled emotions--pride in the leading part he played, wonder and expectancy. "Come on, mister, come on!" he kept saying, impatiently accommodating his own restricted pace to the Flopper's still slower one. Through the wagon track, through the woods beneath the trees, the dead, slow, shuffling tread went on--and now even the murmuring sound was hushed. Men and women stared into each other's faces--children sought their elders' hands. What did it mean? Faith--yes, they had had faith--but never faith like this. They looked at the awful deformity over one another's heads, crawling inch by inch along before them--watched the stubborn, bitter struggle of pain and suffering of the wretched man who led them, spurred on by a faith cast in a heroic mold such as none there had ever dreamed of before--and they spoke no more. There was only the sound of movement now--and that curiously subdued. Men seemed to choose their footing, seeking to tread noiselessly, as though in some solemn presence that awed them and held them in an intangible, heart-quickening suspense.