hilip had visited the week before. He was a man with a harelip, and
there was no mistaking his countenance.

When the people of Milton learned that Philip was not fatally wounded
their excitement cooled a little. A wave of indignation, however, swept
over the town when it was learned that the would-be murderer was
recognized by the minister, and it was rumored that he had openly
threatened that he would "fix the cursed preacher so that he would not
be able to preach again."

Philip, however, felt more full of fight against the rum-devil than
ever. As he lay on the bed the morning after, the shooting he had
nothing to regret or fear. The surgeon had been called at once, as soon
as his wife and the alarmed neighbors had been able to carry him into
the parsonage. The ball had been removed and the wounds dressed. By noon
he had recovered somewhat from the effects of the operation and was
resting, although very weak from the shock and suffering considerable
pain.

"What is that stain on the floor, Sarah?" he asked as his wife came in
with some article for his comfort. Philip lay where he could see into
the other room.

"It is your blood, Philip," replied his wife, with a shudder. "It
dripped like a stream from your shoulder as we carried you in last
night. O Philip, it is dreadful! It seems to me like an awful nightmare.
Let us move away from this terrible place. You will be killed if we stay
here!"

"There isn't much danger if the rest of 'em are as poor shots as this
fellow," replied Philip. "Now, little woman," he went on cheerfully,
"don't worry. I don't believe they'll try it again."

Mrs. Strong controlled herself. She did not want to break down while
Philip was in his present condition.

"You must not talk," she said as she smoothed his hair back from the
pale forehead.

"That's pretty hard on a preacher, don't you think, Sarah? My occupation
is gone if I can't talk."

"Then I'll talk for two. They say that most women can do that."

"Will you preach for me next Sunday?"

"What, and make myself a target for saloon-keepers? No, thank you. I
have half a mind to forbid you ever preaching again. It will be the
death of you."

"It is the life of me, Sarah. I would not ask anything better than to
die with the armor on, fighting evil. Well, all right. I won't talk any
more. I suppose there's no objection to my thinking a little?"

"Thinking is the worst thing you can do. You just want to lie there and
do not