ammy pray fur you."

"Oh, how beautiful--nature sleeps and dreams of paradise," mused the
romantic woman and the preacher clasped his hands.

"Down off there is where the foxes live," said Lou. "One night I went
with pa to run them, and we galloped all round here, and when we got
home, just about day, my clothes were torn nearly all to pieces; but it
was such fun; and when old Bob got close to the fox and bellowed, it
seemed like he was beatin' his paw on my heart. And away off yander, the
hill-side opened and music poured out, and father reached over and put
his hand on my head and we listened."

"It is music," said Jim, "but the horn blowed by old Satan may be made
outen silver."

"But, Mr. Reverend," Mrs. Mayfield spoke up, "you surely don't object to
the enjoyment of a harmless adventure."

"No, ma'm. The Lord wants us to enjoy ourselves, but we should not jump
on the hoss of pleasure and gallop too fur away from the gospel of
truth."

Kintchin ducked his woolly head. "Keep on foolin' roun' an' dis yere
white man call up mourners," he declared. "De gospel it all right, bof
in de dark an' de light o' de moon; but you keep on foolin' wid it an'
follerin' it an' you gwine lose yo' min'. I knows whut I talkin' erbout.
You got ter come ter de 'clusion dat de Lawd knows best an' not pry too
fur inter his erfairs. De Book say suthin' 'bout eat all you want an'
take er drink once in er while fur ter-morrer you ain't gwine be yere."

"Does the Book say anything about shooting craps?" Tom inquired.

"Now, Mr. Tom, whut put dat inter yo' head? Book doan come out p'intedly
an' say you shan't."

"They cast lots for His garments," the preacher spoke, and Kintchin
replied:

"Oh, w'en you fling de Book down on me too hard, I jest hatter squirm,
dat's all. Ef I had ernudder quarter I could open up er 'skussion dat--"

"You'll not get it," said Jim.

"Dat ends it. Oh, I likes preachers--likes ter yere 'em talk, but I
ain't nebber got no money outen one yit. Da all time talk erbout gib
whut you got ter de po' an' foller on, an' da follers all right; but I
ain't seen 'em gibbin' nuthin'."

"They give to the spirit, Kintchin," remarked Mrs. Mayfield.

"Yas'm. But sometimes I'd leetle ruther da give ter de pocket.
Howsomedever, I mustn't go too fur wid dis man. He's er preacher, but
he er Starbuck an' he w'ar me out ef I push him too fur."

"Now, Kintchin," said the preacher, "you know you couldn't provoke me
into stri