nued without interruption his conversation
with Jacqueline. "'Tain't a mite of use puttin' that little washtub in
my room no more, bekase you ain't a-goin' to toll me into it. I takes my
bath when I gits home to Sally. She kinder expects it of me. Hit's a
wife's privilege to cut her man's hair and pare his nails and scrub his
ears an' all them little things, 'specially ef she ain't got no chillun
to do hit fur, an' I'd feel mighty mean ef I disapp'inted her. I don't
do much fer Sally, noways. No, darter, oncet or twicet a year's often
enough fer a human critter to git wet all over, 'cep'n in a nateral way,
by swimmin' in the crick. These here baths and perfumery-soaps an' all
ain't nature. They're sinful snares to the flesh, that's what they be,
not fitten' fer us workers in the Lord's vineyard."

"You think the Lord prefers you dirty?" murmured Jacqueline, with a side
glance at the astonished Channing.

"I dunno, darter, but some of His chillun does, an' that's a fack. Ef I
was too clean, I wouldn't seem to 'em like home-folks." He added, in all
reverence, "I 'lows the Lord went dirty Hisself sometimes when He was
among pore folks, jes' to show 'em He wa'n't no finer than what they
be."

"I haven't a doubt of it," said Philip Benoix, beside him.

Channing suddenly realized who this peddler was. Jacqueline had spoken
of him often--a protege of her mother's whom she called the Apostle,
half fanatic and half saint, who appeared at Storm occasionally on his
way between the mountains of his birth and the city where he had taken
unto himself a wife; bringing down to the "Settlements," for sale,
certain crude handiwork of the mountain women, carrying back with him
various products of civilization, such as needles, and shoe-strings, and
stick-candy, and Bibles. It was his zeal in spreading what he called
"the Word of God" along his route that had won the old peddler his title
of "the Apostle."

Channing looked at him with new interest, the literary eye lighting even
while he frowned at the sight of so uncouth a creature seated at lunch
with ladies.

The Apostle suddenly turned to him with a gentle, quizzical smile, and
Channing had the startled sensation of having spoken his thoughts
unwittingly aloud.

"Stranger, I reckon you ain't never been up in them barren mountings,
whar men has to wrastle with the yearth and the Devil fer every mouthful
of food they puts into their bellies? When I comes down from thar, I
always