catching eyes, added William
Asbury Thompson, preacher, to Charles Jason Weaver, loafer, drunkard
and horse racer, and placed the sum of them on the blackboard of his
outer darkness. I sat in the buggy, holding the reins over the
trembling, wild-eyed bay, while William descended and, with great
dignity, tied up the disabled swingletree. There was not the slightest
evidence of moral repentance in his manner, although he expressed a
polite, man-of-the-world regret at the accident.

When Brother Brock resumed his place on the driver's seat and Sister
Brock had ascended to hers with the cacklings of a hen who had been
rudely snatched from her nest, and all the medium-sized and little
Brocks were safely bestowed beside her, we drove on at a funeral's pace
behind them. The bay was grossly insulted, but it was the only mark of
humility left within our reach.

Three days later the Presiding Elder appeared at the parsonage door.
He was a big man, riding a handsome gray horse and wearing a look of
executive severity. I trembled with apprehension, for we had heard, of
course, that Brother Brock had written to him preferring charges
against William for horse racing. But now I had an astonishing and
unexpected view of William's character. His worldly mood was still
upon him, his Antaeus heel still upon the earth. He hurried out to
meet Doctor Betterled, the elder, and, having thrown the saddlebags of
his guest across his shoulder, stood apparently transfixed with
admiration before the gray horse.

"I'd almost be willing to swap my bay for him!" I heard him say.

"Let's see the bay," replied Doctor Betterled guardedly.

Five minutes later, peeping through the kitchen window, I saw the
mettlesome bay standing beside the big-headed, thick-necked gray, and
the two men, each with one foot planted far forward after the manner of
traders, facing one another with concert eloquence concerning the
respective merits of the two animals. Presently they entered the house
together, Doctor Betterled evidently in a cheerful frame of mind and
William wearing his chastened look.

Late in the afternoon, when our guest rode away, he was mounted on the
bay; but he had not mentioned the horse race of the previous Saturday.
William stood, the genial host, bareheaded at the gate till the rider's
back was turned; then he came into the house, dropped into a chair at
the open window and fixed his eyes, with a deep frown above them, upon
the gray