like it than a little yaller, fluffy canary is like a
buzzard.

"Brother Walters," says the preacher, ca'am but firm, "we have all
decided that you ain't going to come out of that cistern till you sign
the pledge."

And Hank tells him what he thinks of pledges and him and church doings,
and it wasn't purty. And he says if he was as deep in eternal fire as
what he now is in rain-water, and every fish that nibbles at his toes
was a preacher with a red-hot pitchfork a-jabbing at him, they could jab
till the hull hereafter turned into snow afore he'd ever sign nothing a
man like Mr. Cartwright give him to sign. Hank was stubborner than any
mule he ever nailed shoes onto, and proud of being that stubborn. That
town was a awful religious town, and Hank he knowed he was called the
most onreligious man in it, and he was proud of that too; and if any one
called him a heathen it jest plumb tickled him all over.

"Brother Walters," says that preacher, "we are going to pray for you."

And they done it. They brought all them chairs close up around that
cistern, in a ring, and they all kneeled down there, with their heads
on 'em, and they prayed fur Hank's salvation. They done it up in style,
too, one at a time, and the others singing out, "Amen!" every now and
then, and they shed tears down onto Hank. The front yard was crowded
with men, all a-laughing and a-talking and chawing and spitting tobacco
and betting how long Hank would hold out. Old Si Emery, that was the
city marshal, and always wore a big nickel-plated star, was out there
with 'em. Si was in a sweat, 'cause Bill Nolan, that run the bar-room,
and some more of Hank's friends, or as near friends as he had, was out
in the road. They says to Si he must arrest that preacher, fur Hank is
being gradual murdered in that there water, and he'll die if he's helt
there too long, and it will be a crime. Only they didn't come into the
yard to say it amongst us religious folks. But Si, he says he dassent
arrest no one because it is outside the town copperation; but he's
considerable worried too about what his duty orter be.

Pretty soon the gang that Mrs. Cartwright has rounded up at the
prayer-meeting comes stringing along in. They had all brung their hymn
books with them, and they sung. The hull town was there then, and they
all sung, and they sung revival hymns over Hank. And Hank he would jest
cuss and cuss. Every time he busted out into another cussing spell they
would start