it, but he said nothing, and the silent shadow and substance swayed
joyously hither and thither together.

The quarrel between the two men was becoming hot and bitter. One might
have expected nothing better from Jacob Smith, for when a man is drunk,
the human element drops like a husk, and only the unreasoning brute is
left.

But had John Grow forgotten all the good words he had heard to-day from
the circuit-rider? Had they melted into thin air during his long ride
from the church? Were the houseless good words wandering with the rising
wind through the unpeopled forest, seeking vainly a human heart where
they might find a lodgment?

The men had risen from their chairs; the drunkard, tremulous with anger,
had drawn a sharp knife. John Grow was not so patient as he might have
been, considering the great advantage he had in being sober, and the
good words with which he had started out from the "meet'n'-house."

He laid his heavy hand angrily upon the drunken man's shoulder.

In another moment there would have been bloodshed. But suddenly the
dark shadows at the other end of the room swayed with a strange motion;
a great creaking sound arose, and the warping-bars tottered forward and
fell upon the floor with a crash.

The wranglers turned with anxious faces. No one was near the bars, it
seemed that naught could have jarred them; but there lay the heavy frame
upon the floor, the pegs broken, and the yarn twisted.

"A warning!" cried Sol's mother. "A warning how you-uns spen' the
evenin' o' the Lord's Day in yer quar'lin', an' fightin', an' sech. An'
ye, John Grow, jes' from the meet'n'-house!"

She did not reproach her brother,--nobody hopes anything from a
drunkard.

"A sign o' bad luck," said the grandmother. "It 'minds me o' the time
las' winter that the wind blowed the door in, an' straight arter that
the cow died."

"Them signs air ez likely ter take hold on folks ez on cattle," said
Jacob Smith, half-sobered by the shock.

There was a look of sudden anxiety on the face of Solomon's mother. She
crossed the room to the youngster rocking in the cradle.

"Come, Benny," she said, "ye oughter go ter bed. Ye air wastin' yer
strength sittin' up this late in the night. An' ye war a-coughin' las'
week. Ye must go ter bed."

Benny clung to his unique rocking-chair with a sturdy strength which
promised well for his muscle when he should be as old as his great,
strong brother Solomon. He had been as quiet, hithert