From his ambush Gard could see the preacher plainly through the window and two or three of the swaying heads nearest the preacher. The service from now on seemed like an incoherent tumult, the preacher's voice now and then above it, crying, "Mou'n an' pray!" until, at last, after half an hour, it all died away, and there was silence except for the sobbing, moaning, and panting. The preacher had sat down, or was not in sight from where Gard was hidden. Some one unseen at the other end of the building began to sing softly:
"There's a little wheel am turning in my heart."
Gradually the congregation dropped into the melody, all singing softly.
"There's a little wheel am turning in my heart, In my heart, in my heart. That little wheel am Jesus in my heart, In my heart, in my heart— I don' want no deception in my heart."
There was a long prayer in a husky whisper. The preacher seemed exhausted. The meeting broke up. Gard counted fifty or more as they came out. They all took the path to the highway, except the preacher, who stumped away towards the pasture. Gard waited till everything was still, then stepped into the path and followed him. When he came into the pasture he saw the old man down by the bunch of saplings, examining the horse, and joined him promptly.
"Good-morning, friend."
"Mo'nin, sah; disher you ho'se, sah?"
Gard felt in the saddle-bags and found a couple of tracts left.
"You do not know how to read? These are two short sermons upon the texts, 'Whosoever calleth his brother a fool is in danger of hell-fire,' and 'He that loseth himself shall find himself.' You live over there, in a cabin by yourself?"
"Hey! Yes, sah."