painful though not fatal wound.

The shock caused Philip to fall, and he fainted away, but not before the
face of the man who had shot him was clearly stamped on his mind. He
knew that he was one of the saloon proprietors whose establishment
Philip had visited the week before. He was a man with a harelip, and
there was no mistaking his countenance.

When the people of Milton learned that Philip was not fatally wounded
their excitement cooled a little. A wave of indignation, however, swept
over the town when it was learned that the would-be murderer was
recognized by the minister, and it was rumored that he had openly
threatened that he would "fix the cursed preacher so that he would not
be able to preach again."

Philip, however, felt more full of fight against the rum-devil than
ever. As he lay on the bed the morning after, the shooting he had
nothing to regret or fear. The surgeon had been called at once, as soon
as his wife and the alarmed neighbors had been able to carry him into
the parsonage. The ball had been removed and the wounds dressed. By noon
he had recovered somewhat from the effects of the operation and was
resting, although very weak from the shock and suffering considerable
pain.

"What is that stain on the floor, Sarah?" he asked as his wife came in
with some article for his comfort. Philip lay where he could see into
the other room.

"It is your blood, Philip," replied his wife, with a shudder. "It
dripped like a stream from your shoulder as we carried you in last