of you old folks seems to be evoluting the wrong way; kind of a back-sliding evolution, I should call it. Never mind! It'll be all the same a hundred years hence. Still" (sighing), “I feel disappointed. I had hoped better things of some of the older members of my flock. Do you want to know who you folks reminds me of? Why, Ignorance, to be sure, the dolt that Christian had the conversation with near the end of his journey to the city of Zion. The trouble with Ignorance was, he had too much religion. He had soaked himself in it, and he had went mad over it; he was all puffed up with it; he had went blind from self-conceit and vain-glory; he knew it all, and Christian couldn't learn him nothing; he was one of your sanctified sort, Ignorance was," said Mr. Crimp, feelingly. Some of you folks that's so sure of yourselves, claiming holiness and all that, may find yourselves in the same fix as Ignorance, some day, at the very gate of Heaven, feeling in your pockets for the certificate that you haven't got-you may find yourselves bundled off to the side door in the

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hill, and dumped down to that place you're all so fond of mentioning before polite company.

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Speaking of Pilgrim's Progress' reminds me of an article I was reading only yesterday-Gail Hamilton's Valley of the Shadow of Death.' I want to speak of that Valley this morning. From the fulness of the mouth the heart speaketh,' you know. In this article that I was reading, Mrs. Hamilton tells her experience in the Valley. It come to her when she was very sick. She found herself alone, walking in the Valley, and she naturally give herself up for dead. But she come to, again, and now her health is as good as ever. Now, as a student of the Bible, the conclusion that I draw from this story is this: You can experience the Valley of the Shadow of Death in your lifetime. When I was a child I was learnt that the Valley come just before Death, and couldn't come at no other time. But I think different now; I think it comes to some in the midst of life. Let me read to you that beautiful Sam wrote by David." (In a loud voice the preacher read the Twenty

third psalm.) "Now, David, he experienced that Valley in life, and this Sam proves it. If you'll call to mind that sermon I preached where the prophet said to David, 'Thou art the man'! and pointed his finger at him, you'll see that David found himself in the Valley then and there. When we're in great trouble in the midst of life, we're standing in the Valley of the Shadow. I have had my experience of that Valley. I have underwent great trials in my life, more than most people give me credit for. I recollect once in my life" (Soph Crimp moved impatiently in his seat at this the fourth repetition of the story, and those nearest him heard him mutter, "Oh, shoot!')" of standing over the grave of one of my little girls-my oldest little girl, in fact. I realized that I cared more for that little child than for anything else on this earth, perhaps. And for a moment it seemed to me like I had rather give up life right there; I didn't care to go on with my life. It seemed awful easy to give up and die." Mr. Crimp choked and paused, winking hard. But his simulated agitation

was stared out of countenance and he went on hurriedly. 'That was my experience of the Valley of the Shadow of Death. I walked it from one end to the other. Then it seemed to me like God was telling me to leave that little grave and take up the burdens of life again. I knew I had duties to perform-one of them had me by the hand that very minute, in the shape of my boy, Soph. But I want to say this: From that time to this, death has never seemed the same to me that it used to before the day that I stood beside the portals of that little grave."

The flow of Mr. Crimp's oratory might have continued all day had not the restless stirring of his audience penetrated even to his dense perception, and reminded him of the possible existence of cramped legs and aching backs.

After singing" God be with you till we meet again," a hymn in which both congregations joined with a will, the meeting broke up at the hour of a quarter past two in the afternoon.

VII

A DANCE

Revelry in Windy Creek began at an early hour in the evening, nor did it cease until the dawn. Eight o'clock found the Bunt cabin lighted up, the doors wide open, a crowd inside. But the neighbors, though met together, were not mingling in social ease; bunches of eager girls huddled together, whispering and tittering, now and then rushing out of doors to get drinks of water or tell secrets. The men stood awkwardly apart; conversation there was none; they were waiting for the dance to free them from the stiffness that held them in thrall.

The household furniture had been cast forth bodily into the yard, and around the four sides of the room planks were laid from chair to chair. The cracks along the rough board floor had been freshly planed. Two