The vesper service was a sad affair--nobody could put much spirit into the singing, or reading, or prayers. Then, suddenly, Uncle Ephraim, in his quavering old voice, raised the words of the ancient hymn, "How firm a foundation," to the quaint but impressive mountain tune; and then depression seemed to flee away, courage and faith to return; real fervor was poured into the song. As the words of the last verse rolled out over the hills, all unseen to the worshipers a small group of men came down the spur from the ridge top, and stood in the thick shade until the people had all started down the slope. The women, gathered at Pulpit Rock, were about to follow, when the group advanced in a body and stood before them, and they saw with amazement Fult and his friends. "Women," he said, and in the dusk his eyes looked very large and dark against the pallor of his face, "I allow the sight of us won't be a welcome one to you no more; but anyhow we come, soon as we was fully at ourselves, and knowed what had happened, to tell you how we feel over last night. "When you found us working at the still, we was doing just like I told you, getting out timber of a day, but also, of a night, stilling us some liquor to take to Virginny and sell there; not one of us hadn't broke our word to you about drinking and disturbing the peace, nor never aimed to. But though you had no cause, women, you said a hard word to me as you was leaving, when, not liking to see lone women wander by theirselves of a night, I axed if one of us couldn't see you home. You said no, you felt safer alone. "Women, that word pierced my heart like a pizened arrow, and rankled till hit put me plumb beyond myself, and in a pure franzy. Long as you trusted me, I couldn't disapp'int you; but when you didn't, nothing never mattered--I never cared no more what I done. When I got down off the rock, I drank me a pint of strong liquor; and t'other boys, seeing me, and hearing what you had said, done the same. Before long, we was crazy as lunatics, and I don't ricollect nothing more; but I heared from Billy Lee, when he brung our dinner down to us, that we had rid in and shot up the town again. "I was mighty sorry to hear hit, women,--all of us was,--and mighty glad to hear nobody wasn't killed but Polly Ainslee's old sow. "So we come in to-night to tell you how we feel about hit, and to ax you not to let hit put you in the notion to leave. If you allow you'd ruther not stay here with us boys around,--which I wouldn't blame you much atter what we done last night,--I come to tell you we'll all light out immediate for Virginny, with our liquor, and not come back till you've gone. Or, if you feel to put your trust in us one more time, and give us a chance to right ourselves, we'll pour out every bit and grain of that whiskey, and not make nor drink nary 'nother drap long as you stay here.