back leading the
black, slicker an' hence no-counter than ever, if possible.

"'Look at him,' he said proudly--'a dead match for yourn. Jes' han'
me that two an' a half an' take him. You now have a team worth a
thousan'.'

"I looked the hoss over plum' surprised like.

"'Why, Jud,' I said as softly as I cu'd, for I was nigh to bustin',
an' I had a lot of friends come to see the sho', an' they standin'
'round stickin' their old hats in their mouths to keep from
explodin'--'Why, Jud, my dear friend,' I said, 'ain't you kind o'
mistaken about this? I said a _match_ for the black, an' it peers to
me like you've gone an' bought the black hisse'f an' is tryin' to
put him off on me. No--no--my kind frien', you'll not fin' anything
no-count enuff to be his match on this terrestrial ball.'

"By this time you cu'd have raked Jud's eyes off his face with a
soap-gourd.

"'What? w-h-a-t? He--why--I bought him of Dr. Sykes.'

"'Why, that's funny,' I said, 'but it comes in handy all round. If
you'd told me that the other day I might have told you,' I
said--'yes, I might have, but I doubt it--that I'd loaned him to Dr.
Sykes an' told him whenever you offered him two hundred cash for him
to let him go. Jes' keep him,' sez I, 'till you find his mate, an'
I'll take an oath to buy 'em.'"

Bud slapped his leg an' yelled with delight.

"Whew," said the Bishop--"not so loud. We're at the church.

"But remember, Bud, it's good policy allers to freeze. When you're in
doubt--freeze!"

CHAPTER V

THE FLOCK

The Bishop's flock consisted of two distinct classes: Cottontowners
and Hillites.

"There's only a fair sprinklin' of Hillites that lives nigh about
here," said the Bishop, "an' they come because it suits them better
than the high f'lutin' services in town. When a Christian gits into a
church that's over his head, he is soon food for devil-fish."

The line of demarcation, even in the Bishop's small flock, was easily
seen. The Hillites, though lean and lanky, were swarthy, healthy and
full of life. "But Cottontown," said the Bishop, as he looked down on
his congregation--"Cottontown jes' naturally feels tired."

It was true. Years in the factory had made them dead, listless,
soulless and ambitionless creatures. To look into their faces was
like looking into the cracked and muddy bottom of a stream which once
ran.

Their children were there also--little tots, many of them, who worked
in the factory because no man