Wartrace, the storekeeper, in his shirt-sleeves, stood in the front door. He was about thirty years of age and had only one arm. "Come up, come up, Mr. Mostyn," he called out, cheerily. "The preacher is headed this way. A feller passed 'im on the mountain road ten minutes ago. If you hain't heard John Leach talk you've missed a treat."
Mostyn accepted the chair Wartrace drew from within the store, and Webb took a seat near by on an inverted nail-keg. Wartrace was called within, and the banker began to watch the crowd with interest. Back in the store men were lounging on the long counters, chewing tobacco, smoking and talking of their crops or local politics.
"I see 'im!" a woman cried, from the end of the porch, as she stood eagerly pointing up the mountain-road. Mostyn saw a tall man of middle age, smooth-shaven, with long yellow hair falling on his broad shoulders, easily striding down the incline. He had blue eyes and delicate, rather effeminate features. He wore a broad-brimmed felt hat, dark trousers, and a black frock-coat without a vest. Reaching the store, he took off his hat, brushed back his hair from a high pink forehead, and with bows and smiles to the people on all sides, he cried out cheerily: "How are you, everybody? God bless your bones. I hope the Lord has been with you since I saw you last fall. Hello, Brother Wartrace! You see, old chap, I do remember your name," he called out, as the storekeeper appeared in the doorway. "Say, I wish you would have some of those roustabouts inside roll out a dry-goods box for me to stand on."
"All right, Brother Leach," Wartrace answered. "I've got the same box you spoke on before. I intend to keep it for good luck."
"All right, all right, roll it out, gentlemen. I'd help you, but I've had a pretty stiff walk down the mountain to get here on time, and want to sorter get my wind."
He stood fanning his perspiring face with his hat while two obliging farmers brought the box out. "There under that tree," he ordered. "Show me a cheaper pulpit than that, and I'll buy it for kindling- wood. By the way, friends, two preachers over the mountain told me last night that I was doing more harm than good, talking without pay on the public highway as I am doing. I'd like to please every living soul, including them, if I could. It makes them mad to see you all gather to hear a jumping-jack like me. They say it's making salvation too cheap, and quote Scripture as to 'the laborer being worthy of the hire.' That would be all right if this was labor to me, but it isn't; it is nothing but fun, an' fun full of the glory of God, at that."