tree, "I know the paths through here fairly well, for I come this way
several times through the summer. But this will be my last trip for
the season, and I'm giving a little more time to it on that account.
I've taken it somewhat leisurely to-day."

He was a delicate-looking, middle-aged man, with a mild voice and a
kind face.

"You're a drummer for a publishing house, I take it?" said Growler,
nodding toward the books in the strap. "I've just been wondering where
you'd find any buyers in these infernal woods."

The gentleman laughed. "No," said he, "this is my regular route; but
I'm not a commercial traveler in any sense. I'm a pastor at a town
near here, and I go out to these mountain families to hold services
every few weeks."

"You don't mean you foot it through these bushes and among these
wildcats to preach to the mountaineers!" exclaimed Growler in
astonishment.

"Certainly I do. These poor people would never hear the sound of the
gospel if some one did not take it to them. They have souls to be
saved, my friend. I feel it is my duty to carry the word to them. As
for the wildcats," he continued, smiling, "I have my rifle. Besides
the government offers a small bounty for every wildcat."

"Oh, yes, I see. You combine business with pleasure and have your
wildcat bounty to pay expenses as you go along--or else keep it for
pin-money," and Growler laughed good-humoredly at his own fun.