the face of Jasper Kemp; and the latter, frowning back,
solemnly winked one eye. Margaret sat where she could see the whole
thing.

Immediately, still with studied gravity, Long Bill cleared his throat
impressively, arose, and, giving the minister a full look in the eye, of
the nature almost of a challenge, he turned and walked slowly, noisily
down the aisle and out the front door.

The minister was visibly annoyed, and for the moment a trifle flustered;
but, concluding his remarks had been too deep for the rough creature, he
gathered up the thread of his argument and proceeded:

"We need to get to work at our duty toward our fellow-men. We need to
down trusts and give the laboring-man a chance. We need to stop
insisting that men shall believe in the inspiration of the entire Bible
and get to work at something practical!"

The impressive pause after this sentence was interrupted by a sharp,
rasping sound of Big Jim clearing his throat and shuffling to his feet.
He, too, looked the minister full in the face with a searching gaze,
shook his head sadly, and walked leisurely down the aisle and out of
the door. The minister paused again and frowned. This was becoming
annoying.

Margaret sat in startled wonder. Could it be possible that these rough
men were objecting to the sermon from a theological point of view, or
was it just a happening that they had gone out at such pointed moments.
She sat back after a minute, telling herself that of course the men must
just have been weary of the long sentences, which no doubt they could
not understand. She began to hope that Gardley was not within hearing.
It was not probable that many others understood enough to get harm from
the sermon, but her soul boiled with indignation that a man could go
forth and call himself a minister of an evangelical church and yet talk
such terrible heresy.

Big Jim's steps died slowly away on the clay path outside, and the
preacher resumed his discourse.

"We have preached long enough of hell and torment. It is time for a
gospel of love to our brothers. Hell is a superstition of the Dark Ages.
_There is no hell!_"

Fiddling Boss turned sharply toward Jasper Kemp, as if waiting for a
signal, and Jasper gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Whereupon
Fiddling Boss cleared his throat loudly and arose, faced the minister,
and marched down the aisle, while Jasper Kemp remained quietly seated as
if nothing had happened, a vacancy each side of him.