axed again.
Mastering himself with a great effort, the old man turned to the man
who had slapped him.

"Strike the other cheek, you coward, as my Master sed you would."

Even the child was surprised when Carpenter, half wickedly, in rage,
half tauntingly slapped the other cheek with a blow that almost sent
the preacher reeling against the bed. Again the great fist gripped
convulsively, and the big muscles that had once pitched the Mountain
Giant over a rail fence worked--rolled beneath their covering.

"What else kin I do for you at the request of yo' Master?" sneered
Carpenter.

"As He never said anything further on the subject," said the old man,
in a dry pitched voice that told how hard he was trying to control
himself, "I take it He intended me to use the same means that He
employed when He run the thieves an' bullies of His day out of the
temple of God."

The child thought they were embracing. It was the old hold and the
double hip-thrust, by which the overseer had conquered so often
before in his manhood's prime. Nor was his old-time strength gone. It
came in a wave of righteous indignation, and like the gust of a
whirlwind striking the spars of a rotting ship. Never in his life had
Carpenter been snapped so nearly in two. It seemed to him that every
bone in his body broke when he hit the floor.... It was ten minutes
before his head began to know things again. Dazed, he opened his eyes
to see the Bishop sitting calmly by his side bathing his face with
cold water. The blood had been running from his nose, for the rag and
water were colored. His head ached.

Jud Carpenter had one redeeming trait--it was an appreciation of the
humorous. No man has ever been entirely lost or entirely miserable,
who has had a touch of humor in him. As the Bishop put a pillow under
his head and then locked the door to keep any one else out, the
ridiculousness of it all came over him, and he said sillily:

"Wal, I reckin you've 'bout converted me this time."

"Jud Carpenter," said the Bishop, his face white with shame, "for
God's sake don't tell anybody I done that--"

Jud smiled as he arose and put on his hat. "I can stan' bein'
licked," he added good naturedly--"because I remember now that I've
run up agin the old champion of the Tennessee Valley--ain't that what
they useter call you?--but it does hurt me sorter, to think you'd
suppose I'd be such a damned fool as to tell it."

He felt the child's wrist again. "'Pears lak