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stretching out for ever and ever, won't you come on now! Don't you want to meet your old gray-haired mother in Heaven? This minute she's reaching down over the battlements of Heaven pleading with you! Pleading, praying—won't you come!"

The minister himself was sobbing; responsive tears arose in Tug's own eyes, but through some strange spell, which he himself interpreted as the influence of the devil, he could not budge from his seat. All he could do was to shake his head, compress his lips, and mumble, "No—no—not to-night."

The minister paused and looked intently at Tug for several seconds.

"Brother," he said solemnly, "do you gamble?"

Tug sat silent.

"Do you get drunk and carry concealed weapons? Listen, God knows I love you! Give me that pistol in your pocket! Give me that bottle of rot-gut whisky in your pocket! Give 'em to me and go up to God's altar and say, 'Here I am, Lord, a sinner, take me and make me a better man!'"

Mary Lou Meredith at Tug's side was weeping openly now. She knew very well that Tug had both the whisky and the pistol.

"Do go, Tug! Please, please go, Tug!" she wept.

Tug blinked back his own tears and swallowed at the pain in his throat, but shook his head. He really wanted to go now but could not.

The preacher arose in deep frustration. "God have mercy on you," he intoned in solemn anger. "The devil has got you exactly where he wants you! God will not bear with you for ever, young man!" He shook a finger at Tug. "God will send some terrible calamity on you to break your stubborn heart!"

A wide silence fell on the congregation at this almost malediction. The singing stopped. Amid the silence Perry Northcutt's voice prayed, "O God, if it takes a calamity to lead us to You, do not spare us!"