not a Catholic, and
consequently see little of that side; but I meet them everywhere
constantly caring for the poor and the afflicted without any regard for
creed. And they never have any money, worth speaking of, to help with.
They have only their time and their strength and their whole laborious,
self-sacrificing lives to give. The expedients that they resort to in a
pinch would make anybody laugh--to keep from crying. They were out the
other day with a brand-new plan. They travelled about fifty miles
through the wilderness trying to find a purchaser for the new overcoat
that a Methodist friend gives Father Orin every fall. He, of course, had
given his old coat to some shivering wretch last spring while it was
still cold, but that didn't make the slightest difference. He didn't
even remember the fact till I reminded him of it. It is only October
now--so that he can do without the overcoat--and a poor fellow who has
come with his wife and baby to live in that deserted cabin near the
court-house, is in sore need of a horse for his fall ploughing. Father
Orin had suggested Toby's drawing the plough, thinking that some of his
own work might be attended to on foot. But Toby, it seems, drew the line
at that. It was a treat to hear Father Orin laugh when he told how Toby
made it plain that he thought there were more important duties for him
to perform, how firmly he refused to drag the plough. He was quite
willing, however, to do his best to sell the overcoat, so that they
might have money to hire a horse for the ploughing."

The doctor broke off suddenly. The roar coming from the darkness around
the swamp rose high on the gusty wind. He and David were now riding
fast, and the roaring grew rapidly more continuous and distinct. The
vast volume of inarticulate sound presently began to break into many
human voices. At last a single voice pierced all the rest. Its shrill
cry of spiritual anguish filled the dark forest with the wailing of a
soul in extremity.

"And it's a woman, too!" cried the doctor.

He spoke shortly, almost angrily, but something in his tone told David
that he also was shivering, although the night was warm, and that his
heart was full of pity. They were now drawing near the camp-meeting, but
they could not see it, nor even the light from it. They had reentered
the forest, which was here made darker and wilder by many fallen trees,
blown down and tossed together by the fierce tempests which often rent
the