We was right under the gallery, and at this minute a fish hook was let down not but a little ways from us, and Shakespeare Bobbet who stood by a basket full of things, hitched on a long huzzy all made of different kinds of calico, and it went up a danglin’ over our heads. As he ketched sight of it, Brother Wesley Minkley started up and says he, to Betsey in tones that would be replied to,
“What does that mean?”
Says Betsey in almost tremblin’ tones, “They pay ten cents for fishin’ once.”
Then says he in tones that sounded some like distant thunder,
“Do they know what they are goin’ to get for thier money?”
“No sir,” says she, and she quailed to that extent that I almost pitied her.
“More gamblin’!” he cried in fearful tones. And then he sprung for the huzzy, and shouted up the gallery to Shakespeare Bobbet, “I forbid you to draw up this huzzy another step. I forbid this huzzy to be drawed up an inch further.” He hung on to the huzzy with both hands, and says he—with the fire of his old foregrandfather in his eye (who was an orderly sargant in the Revolution) “I’ll see if there is goin’ to be huzzies gambled for in this way. I’ll see if there is goin’ to be such shameless doin’s in my church!”
THE ELDER ON THE ALERT.
For the next half hour confusion rained. But pure principle conquered. In the language of scripture slightly altered to suit the occasion, “He overthrew the grab bags, and drove out the huzzies and fish hooks.” When peace rained agin, I grasped holt of his hand, and says I almost warmly,