"You have decided to give up the saloon?" she said, overjoyed. "I am so glad! But how will you make your living?"
"I'll go to minin' again, an' my wife'll keep boarders. She's glad to 'ave me give up the dram shop."
Esther's eyes filled with happy tears.
The first Sunday in February had arrived. Nearly all vestiges of a saloon had disappeared from what had been Keith's saloon. Masses of mistletoe and fragrant spruce had taken the place of indecent pictures. A cabinet organ, borrowed for the occasion, stood at one side. A small table served as the speaker's desk. The billiard tables had disappeared, and chairs now filled the room.
The crowd that gathered about the door the day of this first service in the saloon was unusually large, for word had gone out that David Bright, the grandfather of their pastor, would speak at the meeting.
The saving of the souls of men had come to be the vital question of the hour in Gila.
As the crowd caught sight of a stately white-haired man accompanying their leader, there was a respectful hush. Men and women stepped aside, leaving a passage to the door. The two entered. The singers were already in their places. The congregation assembled, and the song service began. At its close, there followed an impressive stillness, broken only by the joyous notes of a Kentucky cardinal.
The aged preacher sat with bowed head. One would hardly have been surprised to hear a voice from on high.
At last he rose. Everyone looked intently into his benevolent, kindly face. Slowly and impressively he repeated:
"Repent ye; for the kingdom of Heaven is at hand."