By Shore and Sedge | Page 4

rose suddenly, with that spontaneity of impulse which
characterized the speakers, but unlike his predecessors, he remained for
a moment mute, trembling and irresolute. The fatal hesitation seemed
to check the unreasoning, monotonous flow of emotion, and to recall to
some extent the reason and even the criticism of the worshipers. He
stammered a prayer whose earnestness was undoubted, whose humility
was but too apparent, but his words fell on faculties already benumbed
by repetition and rhythm. A slight movement of curiosity in the rear
benches, and a whisper that it was the maiden effort of a new preacher,
helped to prolong the interruption. A heavy man of strong physical
expression sprang to the rescue with a hysterical cry of "Glory!" and a
tumultuous fluency of epithet and sacred adjuration. Still the meeting
wavered. With one final paroxysmal cry, the powerful man threw his
arms around his nearest neighbor and burst into silent tears. An anxious
hush followed; the speaker still continued to sob on his neighbor's
shoulder. Almost before the fact could be commented upon, it was
noticed that the entire rank of worshipers on the bench beside him were
crying also; the second and third rows were speedily dissolved in tears,
until even the very youthful scoffers in the last benches suddenly found
their half-hysterical laughter turned to sobs. The danger was averted,
the reaction was complete; the singing commenced, and in a few
moments the hapless cause of the interruption and the man who had
retrieved the disaster stood together outside the tent. A horse was

picketed near them.
The victor was still panting from his late exertions, and was more or
less diluvial in eye and nostril, but neither eye nor nostril bore the
slightest tremor of other expression. His face was stolid and perfectly in
keeping with his physique,--heavy, animal, and unintelligent.
"Ye oughter trusted in the Lord," he said to the young preacher.
"But I did," responded the young man, earnestly.
"That's it. Justifyin' yourself by works instead o' leanin' onto Him! Find
Him, sez you! Git Him, sez you! Works is vain. Glory! glory!" he
continued, with fluent vacuity and wandering, dull, observant eyes.
"But if I had a little more practice in class, Brother Silas, more
education?"
"The letter killeth," interrupted Brother Silas. Here his wandering eyes
took dull cognizance of two female faces peering through the opening
of the tent. "No, yer mishun, Brother Gideon, is to seek Him in the
by-ways, in the wilderness,--where the foxes hev holes and the ravens
hev their young,--but not in the Temples of the people. Wot sez Sister
Parsons?"
One of the female faces detached itself from the tent flaps, which it
nearly resembled in color, and brought forward an angular figure
clothed in faded fustian that had taken the various shades and odors of
household service.
"Brother Silas speaks well," said Sister Parsons, with stridulous fluency.
"It's fore-ordained. Fore-ordinashun is better nor ordinashun, saith the
Lord. He shall go forth, turnin' neither to the right hand nor the left
hand, and seek Him among the lost tribes and the ungodly. He shall put
aside the temptashun of Mammon and the flesh." Her eyes and those of
Brother Silas here both sought the other female face, which was that of
a young girl of seventeen.
"Wot sez little Sister Meely,--wot sez Meely Parsons?" continued
Brother Silas, as if repeating an unctuous formula.
The young girl came hesitatingly forward, and with a nervous cry of
"Oh, Gideon!" threw herself on the breast of the young man.
For a moment they remained locked in each other's arms. In the
promiscuous and fraternal embracings which were a part of the
devotional exercises of the hour, the act passed without significance.
The young man gently raised her face. She was young and comely,

albeit marked with a half-frightened, half-vacant sorrow. "Amen," said
Brother Gideon, gravely.
He mounted his horse and turned to go. Brother Silas had clasped his
powerful arms around both women and was holding them in a
ponderous embrace.
"Go forth, young man, into the wilderness."
The young man bowed his head, and urged his horse forward in the
bleak and barren plain. In half an hour every vestige of the camp and its
unwholesome surroundings was lost in the distance. It was as if the
strong desiccating wind, which seemed to spring up at his horse's feet,
had cleanly erased the flimsy structures from the face of the plain,
swept away the lighter breath of praise and plaint, and dried up the
easy-flowing tears. The air was harsh but pure; the grim economy of
form and shade and color in the level plain was coarse but not vulgar;
the sky above him was cold and distant but not repellent; the moisture
that had been denied his eyes