The last sentence was slowly brought out, as quotations were not
exactly his forte, but, as he said afterwards,--"You see, that
nailed the parson."

The parson nodded gravely.

"You'll find no such experiment in the Bible," threw in the young
doctor, alluding to "serious things" as a peace-offering to his
reverend friend.

"One, I believe," dryly.

"Well," broke in the farmer, folding up his wool, "that's neither
here nor there. This experiment of Knowles's is like nothing
known since the Creation. Plan of his own. He spends his days
now hunting out the gallows-birds out of the dens in town here,
and they're all to be transported into the country to start a new
Arcadia. A few men and women like himself, but the bulk is from
the dens, I tell you. All start fair, level ground, perpetual
celibacy, mutual trust, honour, rise according to the stuff
that's in them,--pah! it makes me sick!"

"Knowles's inclination to that sort of people is easily
explained," spitefully lisped the doctor. "Blood, Sir. His
mother was a half-breed Creek, with all the propensities of the
redskins to fire-water and 'itching palms.' Blood will out."

"Here he is," maliciously whispered the woolman. "No, it's
Holmes," he added, after the doctor had started into a more