gotten Sunday morning, as Job rode Bess up the Coyote
road to Pete Wilkins' barn, now transformed into a sanctuary where the
Sierra District Camp-meeting was well under way.

"Bring forth the royal diadem,
And crown him Lord of all."

The rafters of the barn shook with the music, while it rolled out
through the great side and rear doors, thrown open so wide that the
old building looked like outdoors with a roof on. The big structure
was full to the doors, while around it all sorts of vehicles and nags
were hitched. To the right and left rows of tents stretched away. Just
outside, under the old oak, a portly dame was dishing out lemonade for
a nickel to late-comers, while a group of boys were playing leap-frog.
Job struggled through the outer crowd and pushed inside, only to find
himself in the center of "the gang," who greeted him with a wink and a
whisper, "The speakin' racket's next!"

"Oh, that with yonder sacred throng
We at His feet may fall!"

How grand it sounded! Such a host of voices were singing! Far up in
front, on a platform, surrounded by several preachers, gray-haired and
young, in varied attire, from the conventional black suit and white
tie to a farmer's outfit, was a little organ, and a familiar form was
sitting back of it and getting its old bellows to roll out the hymn.
The organist was no other than Jane, and her face flushed as she
caught Job's eye.

Just then the music stopped and a sweet-faced old man stepped up and
said, "Brethren and sisters, we have knelt at the Lord's table; let us
now tell of the Lord's love. Let us have fifty testimonies in the next
few minutes. Let us sing, 'I love to tell the story of Jesus and his
love.'"

The scene faded away; the music was a far-off echo, the barn was gone.
Job was back, a lad, in the old New England church; grandsir was
there, and mother, and the old, old friends, and Ned Winthrop was
poking him with a pin. That song!--how it brought them all back!

Just then be heard a murmur behind him, and looked up to see, near the
front, a trembling old man rise and begin to speak. He told of boyhood
days; he told of a young man's sins; of how one day on the old camp
ground back in York State he had learned that God loved him and could
make a man of him. Then he faltered as he told a story of sorrows, and
how at last, alone in the world, he awaited the angels that should
bear him home.

Job trembled. Unpleasant memories arose in his