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"Exactly so," said the chairman, in confused but hearty acquiescence.
"Perhaps some one will say something."
Then Mr. Innes, forced to a change of position by the physical
discomfort caused by his wife's prodding, rose and said,
"I dinna see the need o' any change. Mr. Dunbar is no a great preacher,
but Ah doot he does his best. And the bairns all like him."
Then the congregation had a thrill. In the back seat rose Harry Hobbs.
"I'm near forty years old," he cried, in a high nasal tone that
indicated a state of extreme nervous tension, "and I never spoke in
meetin' before. I ain't had no use for churches and preachers, and I
guess they hadn't no use for me. You folks all know me. I've been in
this burg for near eight years, and I was a drinkin', swearin', fightin'
cuss. This preacher came into the barn one day when I was freezin' to
death after a big spree. He tuk me home with him and kep' me there
for two weeks, settin' up nights with me, too. Let me be," he said
impatiently to Barry, who was trying to pull him down to his seat.


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