he table, drinking cider
from a stone pitcher, was Parson Peppers,--the full brood.

The Parson replaced the pitcher and wiped his dripping mouth on his
sleeve. Then he burst out in a loud guffaw. "I quote Saint Paul," he
cried. "Do thyself no harm, for we are all here."

Marks straightened in his chair like a cat, and the little eyes of Malan
slipped around in his head. For a moment, I was undecided, but Ump
pushed through and I followed him into the room.

There was surprise and annoyance in Marks's face for a moment. Then it
vanished like a shadow and he smiled pleasantly. "You're late to
dinner," he said; "perhaps you were not expected."

"I think," said I, "that we were not expected, but we have come."

"I see," said Marks.

Peppers broke into a hoarse laugh and clapped his hand on Marks's
shoulder. "You see, do you?" he roared; "you see now, my laddie. Didn't
I tell you that you couldn't stop runnin' water with talk?"

The suggestion was dangerously broad, and Marks turned it. "I recall,"
he said, "no conversation with you about running water. That cider must
be up in your hair."

"Lemuel, my boy," said the jovial Peppers, "the Lord killed Ananias for
lyin' an' you don't look strong."

"I'm strong enough to keep my mouth shut," snapped Marks.

"Fiddle-de-dee," said Peppers, "the Lord has sometimes opened an ass's
mouth when He wanted to."

"He didn't have to open it in your case," said Marks.

"But He will have to shut it in my case," replied Peppers; "you're a
little too light for the job."

The cider was reaching pretty well into the Reverend Peppers. This Marks
saw, and he was too shrewd to risk a quarrel. He burst into a laugh.
Peppers began to hammer the table with his stone pitcher and call for
Roy.

The tavern-keeper came in a moment, a short little man with a weary
smile. Peppers tossed him the pitcher. "Fill her up," he roared, "I
follow the patriarch Noah. He was the only one of the whole shootin'
match who stood in with the Lord, an' he got as drunk as a b'iled owl."

Then he turned to us. "Will you have a swig, boys?"

We declined, and he struck the table with his fist. "Ho! ho," he roared;
"is every shingle on the meetin'-house dry?" Then he marked the
hunchback sitting by the wall, and pointed his finger at him. "Come,
there, you camel, wet your hump."

That a fight was on, I had not the slightest doubt in the world. I
caught my breath in a gasp. I saw Jud loosen his arm in his c