"Sure thing, ma'am," said Mr. Sleighter, pushing back his chair and
beginning to rock on its hind legs, picking his teeth with his pen
knife, to the staring horror of the little girls.

The reading was from the Scripture to which throughout the centuries the
Christian Church has gone for authority and guidance in the exercise
of charity and in the performance of social service, the story of the
Samaritan gentleman to whom the unhappy traveller whose misfortune it
was to be sorely mishandled by thieves owed his rescue and his life.

Throughout the reading Mr. Sleighter paid the strictest attention and
joined in the prayers with every sign of reverence. At the close he
stood awkwardly shifting from one foot to another.

"Well, I'll be goin'," he said. "Don't know how you roped me in for this
here visit, ma'am. I ain't et in any one's house since I left home, and
I ain't heard any family prayers since my old dad had 'em--a regular old
Methodist exhorter he was. He used to pray until all was blue, though
most times, specially at night, I used to fall asleep. He was great on
religion."

"I don't suppose he was any the worse for that," said Mrs. Gwynne.

"Not a mite, not a mite, ma'am. A little strict, but straight as a
string, ma'am. No one could say anythin' against Hiram Sleighter--H. P.
Sleighter. I was named for him. He used to pray to beat creation, and
then some, but he was a straight man all right. And to-night your kids
and your family prayers made me think of them old days. Well, good-night
and thank you for the good time you gave me. Best I've had in a dog's