ttle old lady turned to me, "he took
no thought of his health nor his life nor limb. There was nothing he
feared--man nor beast nor weather. In the early days there were no roads
in this country and he rode horseback from one church to another through
the wilderness. In the dead of night I've known him to get up out of bed
and go with a troubled neighbor who had come for him to pray with the
dying."

Uncle Dyke chuckled softly. "Sometimes they were not as near death as I
thought. Once I remember John Lawton came from way over in Hart County.
His wife was at the point of death, he said. She had lived a mighty
sorry life had Dessie Lawton."

"Parted John and his wife!" piped Aunt Sallie, "and that poor girl went
to her grave worshiping the ground John Lawton walked on; hoping he'd
come back to her. Dyke claims there's ever hope for them that repent, so
when John brought word that Dessie wanted to make her peace with the
Lord before she died, Dyke said nothin' could stay him. So off he rode
behind John to pray over that trollop!" Aunt Sallie's eyes blazed. "They
forded the creek no tellin' how many times. They got chilled to the
bone. When they got there Dyke stumbled into the house as fast as his
cold, stiff legs could pack him, fell on his knees 'longside Dessie's
bed and begun to pray with all his might. Then he tried to sing a hymn,
but still never a word nor a moan out of Dessie, covered over from head
to foot in the bed. Directly John reached over to lay a hand on her
shoulder. 'Dessie, honey,' he coaxed, 'Brother Dyke Garrett's come to
pray with you!' He shook the heap of covers. And bless you, what they
thought was Dessie turned out to be a feather bolster. John snatched
back the covers. The bed was empty except for that long feather bolster
that strumpet had covered over lengthwise of the bed. Come to find out
Dessie had sent John snipe huntin', so to speak, and she skipped out
with a timber cruiser. Dyke was laid up for all of a week; took a deep
cold on his chest from riding home in his wet clothes."

The old preacher smiled at the memory. "Could have been worse, like John
Lawton said that night. 'Dessie's got principle!' said he. 'She could
a-took my poke of seed corn, but there it is a-hangin' from the rafters.
And she could a-took my savin's.' With that John Lawton pried a stone
out of the hearth with the toe of his boot. Underneath it lay a little
heap of silver coins. John blinked at it a moment. 'There i