totter. Men "disguised by liquer" were not
themselves. Whiskey made the fights and the feuds. It broke up meetings.
It made men lie around in the woods and neglect their families. It stole
brains and weakened bodies. It made women unhappy and debauched children.
It turned Holy Christmas into a drunken orgy. And "right thar in their
very midst," he thundered, was a satellite of the Devil-King, "who was
a-doin' all these very things," and that limb of Satan must give up his
still, come to the mourner's bench, and "wrassle with the Sperit or else
be druv from the county and go down to burnin' damnation forevermore."
And that was not all: this man, he had heard, was "a-detainin' a female,"
an' the little judge of Happy Valley would soon be hot on his trail. The
parson mentioned no name in the indictment, but the stern faces of the
women, the threatening looks of the men were too much for Jeb. He rose
and bolted, and the parson halted.

"The wicked flee when no man pursueth!" he cried, and he raised hands
for the benediction.

"Thar's been so much talk about drinkin'," muttered Aunt Sis Stidham as
she swayed out, "that hit's made me plum' thirsty. I'd like to have a dram
right now." Pleasant Trouble heard her and one eye in his solemn face gave
her a covert wink.

The women folks had long clamored that their men should break up Jeb's
still; and the men had stood the nagging and remained inactive through
the hanging-together selfishness of the sex, for with Jeb gone where
then would they drink their drams and play Old Sledge? But now Jeb was
"a-detainin' of a female," and that was going too far. For a full week
Jeb was seen no more, for three reasons: he was arranging an important
matter with Pleasant Trouble; he was brooding over the public humiliation
that the parson had visited on him; and he knew that he might be waited
upon any day by a committee of his fellow citizens and customers headed
by a particular enemy of his. And indeed such a committee, so headed,
was formed, and as chance would have it they set forth the following
Sunday morning just when Jeb himself set forth to halt the parson on
his way to church. The committee caught sight of Jeb turning from the
roadside into the bushes and the leader motioned them too into the
rhododendron, whispering:

"Wait an' we'll ketch him in some mo' devilment." In the bushes they
waited. Soon the parson hove in view on a slowly pacing nag, with his
hands folded on the pomm