“Poor fellow!” Floyd said to himself, “he's hard hit, and no wonder.” He glanced at the fair face at his elbow and thrilled from head to foot. She was certainly all that a woman could possibly be.
Then there was a rousing sermon from the Rev. Edward Richardson, an eloquent mountain evangelist. His pleadings bore immediate fruit. Women began to shed tears, and sob, and utter prayers aloud. This was followed by tumultuous shouting, and the triumphant evangelist closed his talk by asking all who felt like it to kneel where they were and receive prayers for their benefit. Half of the congregation fell on their knees. “Did you see that?” Floyd whispered to Cynthia, and he directed her attention to Pole Baker, who was kneeling on the ground, his great, heavily shod feet under the seat in front of him, his elbows on his own bench, and his big, splaying hands pressed over his eyes.
“Poor fellow!” she whispered back, “he is making fresh resolutions to quit drinking, I suppose. I'm so sorry for him. He tries harder to reform for the sake of his wife and children than any man I know. Sometimes I am afraid he never will succeed.”
“Perhaps not,” said Floyd. “You see, I know what it is, Cynthia.”
“You?”
“Why, of course, it almost got me down once. There was a point in my life when I could have been blown one way or the other as easily as a feather. I don't want to pose as being better than I am, and I confess that I am actually afraid at times that it may again get the best of me. God only knows how a man has to fight a thing like that after it has once become a habit. As long as matters are like they are now, I can hold my own, I am sure; but I actually believe if I had to meet some absolutely crushing blow to all my hopes and aspirations, I'd—I'd really be as weak as Pole is.”
“I don't believe it,” said Cynthia, raising her frank eyes to his. “I don't believe a word of it,” she repeated, firmly.
“You don't? Well, perhaps your faith will save me.”
The prayer over, the preacher next called on all who felt that they needed special spiritual help in any particular trial, affliction, or trouble to come forward and give him their hands. Several men and women responded, and among them, to Floyd's growing astonishment, was Pole Baker. He stood erect at his seat for an instant, and then, with his long arms swinging at his sides, he walked up and shook hands stiffly with the minister.
“You were right about it,” Floyd said to Cynthia. “I reckon he's making new resolutions. But where is the fellow going?”