Amen corners.

"But, my f'en's, I want to ax you, who was behind Ab'aham Lincoln? Who
was it helt up dat man's han's when dey sent bayonets an' buttons to
enfo'ce his word--umph? I want to--to know who was behin' him? Wasn'
it de 'Publican pa'ty?" There were cries of "Yes, yes! dat's so!" One
old sister rose and waved her sunbonnet.

"An' now I want to know in dis hyeah day o' comin' up ef we a-gwineter
'sert de ol' flag which waved ovah Lincoln, waved ovah Gin'r'l Butler,
an' led us up straight to f'eedom? Ladies an' gent'men, an' my f'en's,
I know dar have been suttain meetin's held lately in dis pa't o' de
town. I know dar have been suttain cannerdates which have come down
hyeah an' brung us de mixed wine o' Babylon. I know dar have been dem
o' ouah own people who have drunk an' become drunk--ah! But I want to
know, an' I want to ax you ter-night as my f'en's an' my brothahs, is
we all a-gwineter do it--huh? Is we all a-gwineter drink o' dat wine?
Is we all a-gwineter reel down de perlitical street, a-staggerin' to
an' fro?--hum!"

Cries of "No! No! No!" shook the whole church.

"Gent'men an' ladies," said the old man, lowering his voice, "de
pa'able has been 'peated, an' some o' us--I ain't mentionin' no names,
an' I ain't a-blamin' no chu'ch--but I say dar is some o' us dat has
sol' dere buthrights fu' a pot o' cabbage."

What more Deacon Swift said is hardly worth the telling, for the whole
church was in confusion and little more was heard. But he carried
everything with him, and Lane's work seemed all undone. On a back seat
of the church Tom Swift, the son of the presiding officer, sat and
smiled at his father unmoved, because he had gone as far as the sixth
grade in school, and thought he knew more.

As the reporters say, the meeting came to a close amid great
enthusiasm.

The day of election came and Little Africa gathered as usual about the
polls in the precinct. The Republicans followed their plan of not
bothering about the district. They had heard of the Deacon's meeting,
and chuckled to themselves in their committee-room. Little Africa was
all solid, as usual, but Lane was not done yet. His emissaries were
about, as thick as insurance agents, and they, as well as the
Republican workers, had money to spare and to spend. Some votes, which
counted only for numbers, were fifty cents apiece, but when Tom Swift
came down they knew who he was and what his influence could do. They
gave him five dollars, a