"That's about right," said a third. "It looks to me like Caleb done sot
his stakes where he's goin' to run the furrow. If livin' a dozen years
and mo' with such a sancterfied woman as Martha Gordon won't make out to
toll a man up to the pearly gates, I allow the' ain't no preacher goin'
to do it."

"Well, now; maybe that's the reason," drawled Japheth Pettigrass, the
only unmarried man in the small circle of listeners; but he was promptly
put down by the tall mountaineer.

"Hold on thar, Japhe Pettigrass! I allow the' ain't no dyed-in-the-wool
hawss-trader like you goin' to stand up and say anything ag'inst Marthy
Gordon while I'm a-listenin'. I'm recollectin' right now the time when
she sot up day and night for more'n a week with my Malviny--and me
a-smashin' the whisky jug acrost the wagon tire to he'p God to forgit
how no-'count and triflin' I'd been."

Thomas Jefferson had opened the church-house doors and windows and was
out among the unhitched teams looking for Scrap Pendry, who had been one
of a score to go forward for prayers the night before. So it happened
that he overheard the flat-chested mountaineer's tribute to his mother.
It warmed him generously; but there was a boyish scowl for Japheth
Pettigrass. What had the horse-trader been saying to make it needful for
Bill Layne to speak up as his mother's defender? Thomas Jefferson
recorded a black mark against Pettigrass's name, and went on to search
for Scrap.

"What you hiding for?" he demanded, when the newly-made convert was
discovered skulking in the dusky shadows of the pines beyond the