tor't the old man how to make a mint julip; an' when I went down the next year to hold services his wife told me the good old man had been gathered to his fathers. 'He was all right' she 'lowed, 'till a little feller from Virginia came along an' tort 'im ter mix greens in his licker, an' then he jes drunk hisself to death.'

"There's another thing I like about two of the churches I'm in--the Hard-sh.e.l.ls an' the Presbyterians--an' that is special Providence. If I didn't believe in special Providence I'd lose my faith in G.o.d.

"My father tuck care of me when I was a babe, an' we're all babes in G.o.d's sight.

"The night befo' the battle of Shiloh, I preached to some of our po'

boys the last sermon that many of 'em ever heard. An' I told 'em not to dodge the nex' day, but to stan' up an' 'quit themselves like men, for ever' sh.e.l.l an' ball would hit where G.o.d intended it should hit.

"In the battle nex' day I was chaplain no longer, but chief of scouts, an' on the firin' line where it was hot enough. In the hottest part of it General Johnston rid up, an' when he saw our exposed position he told us to hold the line, but to lay down for shelter. A big tree was nigh me an' I got behin' it. The Gineral seed me an' he smiled an' sed:

"'Oh, Bishop,'"--his voice fell to a proud and tender tone--"did you know it was Gineral Johnston that fust named me the Bishop?"

"'Oh, Bishop,' he said, 'I can see you puttin' a tree betwixt yo'se'f an' special Providence.' 'Yes, Gineral,' I sed, 'an' I looks on it as a very special Providence jus' at this time.'

"He laughed, an' the boys hoorawed an' he rid off.

"Our lives an' the destiny of our course is fixed as firmly as the laws that wheel the planets. Why, I have knowed men to try to hew out their own destiny an' they'd make it look like a gum-log hewed out with a broad axe, until G.o.d would run the rip-saw of His purpose into them, an' square them out an' smooth them over an' polish them into pillars for His Temple.

"What is, was goin' to be; an' the things that's got to come to us has already happened in G.o.d's mind.

"I've knowed poor an' unpretentious, G.o.d-fearin' men an' women to put out their hands to build shanties for their humble lives, an' G.o.d would turn them into castles of character an' temples of truth for all time.

"Elder b.u.t.ts will lead in prayer."

It was a long prayer and was proceeding smoothly, until, in its midst, from the front row, Archie B.'s head bobbed cautiously up.

Keeping one eye on his father, the praying Elder, he went through a pantomime for the benefit of the young Hillites around him, who, like himself, had had enough of prayer. Before coming to the meeting he had cut from a black sheep's skin a gorgeous set of whiskers and a huge mustache. These now adorned his face.

There was a convulsive snicker among the young Hillites behind him.

The Elder opened one eye to see what it meant. They were natural children, whose childhood had not been dwarfed in a cotton mill, and it was exceedingly funny to them.

But the young Cottontowners laughed not. They looked on in stoical wonder at the presumption of the young Hillites who dared to do such a deed.

Humor had never been known to them. There is no humor in the all-day buzz of the cotton factory; and fun and the fight of life for daily bread do not sleep in the same crib.

The Hillites t.i.ttered and giggled.

"Maw," whispered Miss b.u.t.ts, "look at Archie B."

Mrs. b.u.t.ts hastily reached over the bench and yanked Archie B. down.

His whiskers were confiscated and in a moment he was on his knees and deeply devotional, while the young Hillites nudged each other, and giggled and the young Cottontowners stared and wondered, and looked to see when Archie B. would be hung up by the thumbs.

The Bishop was reading the afternoon chapter when the animal in Archie B. broke out in another spot. The chapter was where Zacharias climbed into a sycamore tree to see his pa.s.sing Lord. There was a rattling of the stove pipe in one corner.

"Maw," whispered Miss b.u.t.ts, "Jes' look at Archie B.--he's climbin'

the stove pipe like Zacharias did the sycamo'."

Horror again swept over Cottontown, while the Hillites cackled aloud.

The Elder settled it by calmly laying aside his spectacles and starting down the pulpit steps. But Archie B. guessed his purpose and before he had reached the last step he was sitting demurely by the side of his pious brother, intently engaged in reading the New Testament.

Without his gla.s.ses, the Elder never knew one twin from the other, but presuming that the studious one was Ozzie B., he seized the other by the ear, pulled him to the open window and pitched him out on the gra.s.s.

It was Ozzie B. of course, and Archie B. turned cautiously around to the Hillites behind, after the Elder had gone back to his chapter, and whispered:

"_Venture pee-wee under the bridge--bam--bam--bam._"

Throughout the sermon Archie B. kept the young Hillites in a paroxysm of smirks.

Elder b.u.t.ts' legs were brackets, or more properly parentheses, and as he preached and thundered and gesticulated and whined and sang his sermon, he forgot all earthly things.

Knowing this, Archie B. would crawl up behind his father and thrusting his head in between his legs, where the brackets were most p.r.o.nounced, would emphasize all that was said with wry grimaces and gestures.

No language can fittingly describe the way Elder b.u.t.ts delivered his discourse. The sentences were whined, howled or sung, ending always in the vocal expletive--"_ah--ah_."

When the elder had finished and sat down, Archie B. was sitting demurely on the platform steps.

Then the latest Scruggs baby was brought forward to be baptised.

There were already ten in the family.

The Bishop took the infant tenderly and said: "Sister Scruggs, which church shall I put him into?"

"'Piscopal," whispered the good Mrs. Scruggs.

The Bishop looked the red-headed young candidate over solemnly. There was a howl of protest from the l.u.s.ty Scruggs.

"He's a Cam'elite," said the Bishop dryly--"ready to dispute a'ready"--here the young Scruggs sent out a kick which caught the Bishop in the mouth.

"With Baptis' propensities," added the Bishop. "Fetch the baptismal fount."

"Please, pap," said little Appomattox Watts from the front bench, "but Archie B. has drunk up all the baptismal water endurin' the first prayer."

"I had to," spoke up Archie B., from the platform steps--"I et dried mackerel for breakfas'."

"We'll postpone the baptism' till nex' Sunday," said the Bishop.

CHAPTER IX

THE RETURN

It was Sunday and Jack Bracken had been out all the afternoon, hunting for Cap'n Tom--as he had been in the morning, when not at church. Hitching up the old horse, the Bishop started out to hunt also.

He did not go far on the road toward Westmoreland, for as Ben Butler plodded sleepily along, he almost ran over a crowd of boys in the public road, teasing what they took to be a tramp, because of his unkempt beard, his tattered clothes, and his old army cap.

They had angered the man and with many gestures he was endeavoring to expostulate with his tormentors, at the same time attempting imprecations which could not be uttered and ended in a low pitiful sound. He shook his fist at them--he made violent gestures, but from his mouth came only a guttural sound which had no meaning.

At a word from the Bishop his tormentors vanished, and when he pulled up before the uncouth figure he found him to be a man not yet in his prime, with an open face, now blank and expressionless, overgrown with a black, tangled, and untrimmed beard.