down by the little white pulpit. He gave the rope a
single forceful jerk and the cast-iron bell on the roof creaked and
tapped lazily. That was a signal that the Bible class had begun its
session.

Just now, to John's great discomfiture, Whaley, with his Bible in his
stubby hands, came down the aisle to him.

"You can't hear back this far," Whaley said. "Move on up and join us."

"I'd rather not," John stammered, trying to steady his eyes and voice in
his bewilderment.

"Well, I can't see why. It certainly can't hurt you to hear us go
through the lesson, and you might learn a lot. Bible reading and study
is fairly sweeping broadcast over the country. Over in Dadeville they
have hired that woman blackboard teacher to come several hundred miles
and are paying five dollars a head for the course. I've read some of her
points in our Leaflet, and I'm here to tell you if she ever comes this
way I'll refute her, if they oust me for disorder. It would be my duty,
considering the light I have. Come on up."

There was nothing else to do, for the entire class, with the exception
perhaps of Tilly, was looking toward him. John rose and followed the old
man up the aisle, and found Cavanaugh gravely and sympathetically making
space for him at his side. Tilly and her mother were just in front of
him. John could have bent forward and whispered in the girl's ear, had
he dared. The exercises began by a chapter being read, first a verse by
Whaley and then a verse in turn by each of the class. John was fairly
chilled by the horror of his predicament. It was plain that Whaley would
expect him to read aloud, and he determined that he would refuse. He
told himself that he would refuse if the whole silly bunch of fanatics
were infuriated by it. He had been forced into the class and he would be
forced no farther. As luck would have it, the book was handed to
Cavanaugh before it reached John, and the old man read in a clear,
confident tone the verse which had fallen to him. Then he started to
hand the Bible to John, but John shook his head firmly.

"Pass it on to some one else," he said, almost aloud and with guttural
sullenness. "I won't do it."

Then Cavanaugh displayed friendly diplomacy. "I'll read for my young
friend, if it is all right," he said. "Me and him have a lot of talks on
these same lines, but usually I do the reading."

Whaley frowned and glared, but, being impatient with any delay, he said,
gruffly: "Well, well, go ahead.