ons were not hurried or yet protracted. They
came to a happy ending at much the same moment as Festus Clasby made the
knot on the twine of your parcel. But to stand in the devotional lights
in front of his counter, wedged in between divisions and subdivisions of
his boxes and barrels, and to scent the good scents which exhaled from
his shelves, and to get served by Festus Clasby in person, was to feel
that you had been indeed served.

The small farmers and herds and the hardy little dark mountainy men had
this reverential feeling about the good man and his shop. They
approached the establishment as holy pilgrims might approach a shrine.
They stood at his counter with the air of devotees. Festus Clasby
waited on them with patience and benignity. He might be some
warm-blooded god handing gifts out over the counter. When he brought
forth his great account book and entered up their purchases with a
carpenter's pencil--having first moistened the tip of it with his
flexible lips--they had strongly, deep down in their souls, the
conviction that they were then and for all time debtors to Festus
Clasby. Which, indeed and in truth, they were. From year's end to year's
end their accounts remained in that book; in the course of their lives
various figures rose and faded after their names, recording the ups and
downs of their financial histories. It was only when Festus Clasby had
supplied the materials for their wakes that the great pencil, with one
mighty stroke of terrible finality, ran like a sword through their
names, wiping their very memories from the hillsides. All purchases were
entered up in Festus Clasby's mighty record without vulgar discussions
as to price. The business of the establishment was conducted on the
basis of a belief in the man who sold and acquiescence in that belief on
the part of the man who purchased. The customers of Festus Clasby would
as soon have thought of questioning his prices as they would of
questioning the right of the earth to revolve round the sun. Festus
Clasby was the planet around which this constellation of small farmers,
herds, and hardy little dark mountainy men revolved; from his shop they
drew the light and heat and food which kept them going. Their very
emotions were registered at his counter. To the man with a religious
turn he was able, at a price, to hand down from his shelves the _Key of
Heaven_; the other side of the box he comforted the man who came panting
to his taps to drown