The evening was spent, as usual, in relating coarse jokes and playing
cards. Although I was not accustomed to such things at home, I had
become so used to it at the mill, that it had long since ceased to shock
me, and, indeed, I was getting to enjoy watching the games of the
others.
When bedtime came, we were all so busy with our own affairs that we did
not notice Charley Allen, until a rude, profane fellow exclaimed:--
"Heyday! we've got a parson here!" sure enough. Charley was kneeling by
the oatbin praying. But the jest met with no response. The silence was
broken only by the drowsy cattle below, and the twittering swallows
overhead. More than one rough man wiped a tear from his eyes as he went
silently to his bed on the hay.
I had always been in the habit of praying at home, but I never thought
of such a thing at Saunder's Mill.
As I laid awake that night in the old barn, thinking of Charley Allen's
courage, and what an effect it had upon the men, I firmly resolved that
in the future I would _do right_. I little thought how soon my courage
would be tested.
[Illustration: "_Did you go through this gate yesterday_?"]
Just after dinner I got my grist, and started for home. When I arrived
at Squire Albright's gate, where I turned off to go home, I found the
old squire waiting for me.
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