d to give up that sin you love. Give it up, or
this night thy soul shall be required of thee, and all the devils in
hell shall play at ball with it in the midst of the flames."

Several men, each convinced that finger had threatened him, rose to
their feet and struggled towards the penitents' pew, the tears streaming
down their drawn faces, their breath rasping as though they had been
running. A young girl sprang up and ripped the ribbon off the straw
bonnet she was wearing; the sharp tearing sound added an alien note to
the babel. Then she too, trembling violently, attained the pew and fell
on her knees, the despoiled bonnet askew on her bowed head. One after
another all those not already converted made their way through the
encouraging throng to the fateful pew.

Annie shook Ishmael by the arm.

"Get up," she urged excitedly; "go to the pew, Ishmael. Confess the
Lard, de 'ee hear? You'm got to confess the Lard."

But Ishmael, sick with fear, was crouching down, trying to shield both
eyes and ears at the same time with his enfolding arms. He shrieked as
Annie touched him.

"Go to wance," she commanded. "You heard what the minister said? You'll
die and go to hell unless you repent. Get up and be saved ...;" and she
drew him to his feet, his struggles unavailing against her.

But at sight of that sinister pew, choked with its weeping throng of
ugly people, Ishmael went distraught with fear. He felt if he were put
in that place of dread he would die at once. He fought Annie's grasp for
a moment, screaming wildly, then collapsed in a little heap against her.

Annie thought he was dead, and that her offering, like Cain's, had
proved unacceptable on high. She drew back in horror, her hands dabbing
aimlessly from her own face to the sides of the pew. It was another
woman, a comfortable creature who had remained very unaffected
throughout the service, who gathered Ishmael up and forced her way out
with him in her arms.

As she laid him on the grass outside a burst of praise came through the
open door of the chapel; the scene of fear was over, and the penitents,
confident of their salvation, were rejoicing together. All was peace and
happiness, but Ishmael lay, his head upon the steep lap of the stranger,
quite unaware that the Lord was appeased at last.

CHAPTER VIII

SEED-TIME

The Parson was a cassocked whirlwind in his wrath. He said little, not
being a man who wasted words when a thing was done, but he