"Oh, hush, you stock joker. But Mr. Reverend, don't you think it is awfully wrong to fight?" And gazing into her eyes he said: "At times, ma'm, it is just as essential as prayer. Now, Peter drew his sword and cut off a man's ear, and Peter stood right up next to Christ." "But the Savior told him to put up his sword." "Very true, ma'm, but not until after the feller had lost his ear." "Law, me!" exclaimed Margaret, standing at the door, "but you folks air cuttin' up scollops." "Mr. Reverend," Mrs. Mayfield continued, determined to pursue a subject so interesting to herself, "someone told me of a very heroic thing you did." "Why, ma'm, I can't look back an' see that I ever did anything heroic. I have helped many an old woman across the creek; I have helped a man set out his tobacco plants, and I want to tell you that settin' out tobacco is the most fetching work I ever did." "But this was something you can't make light of. I am told that when Memphis was stricken with yellow fever you went down there and nursed the sick." For a moment he was silent and then he said: "They needed strong arms down there then. The hospitals were full and the churches empty. It seemed to me like the gospel had got scared and was running to the mountains. The Lord may not have called upon me to preach, but I do believe he called on me to go down there." Leaning upon the table she gazed into his face as if she were for the first time in her life contemplating a human mystery. "You are a noble man, Mr. Reverend. My faith in man gasped and died, but into it you have blown the sweet breath of a new life. Don't misunderstand me, I--" "No, ma'm, I won't do that. It is not for me to place an estimation upon you. I don't know much about--" "Come right in," Margaret called to Mose Blake, hesitating at the door. She led him into the room and began to introduce him to the company. "Mose, this is Miz Mayfield--" Mose shook hands with Jim. "No, this is Miz Mayfield." Mose shook hands with Lou, then with Mrs. Mayfield, and turning to Tom, to whom he was now presented, shook the stool which Tom held in his hand and upon which he was about to sit, took it from him and sat down. "All h--h--h--h--hands w--w--well, I h--h--hope." "Well as usual," Margaret answered, sitting down in the rocker. "Why ain't you folks been over?" "Been a t--t--t--tryin' t--t--t--t--t--to git off. Granny sot t--t--t--the feather b--b--b--bed a--f--f--fire night afore l--l--l--last an' come mighty n--n--n--nigh b--b--b--burnin' up." "Why, you don't say so?" Margaret exclaimed. [Illustration: "YES, I D-D-D-DO SAY SO, A-A-A-ATTER A F-F-F-FASHION."] "Yes I d--d--d--do say so a--a--a--atter a f--f--f--fashion." "How far do you live from here Mr. Blake?" Tom inquired. "Oh, 'bout t--t--t--three sights and a g--g--g--good long w--w--w--walk."