all, and callin’ ’em enemies of Christ.  He was sassy—­I can’t deny that—­and that’s where he wa’n’t wise.  Some of the mobocrats was drunk and some was mad; they was all in their high-heeled boots one way or another, and he enraged ’em more.  So he says, finally, ’The Jews fell,’ he says, ’because they wouldn’t receive their Messiah, the Shiloh, the Saviour.  They wet their hands,’ he says, ’in the best blood that had flowed through the lineage of Judah, and they had to pay the cost.  And so will you cowards of Illinois,’ he says, ’have to pay the penalty for sheddin’ the blood of Joseph Smith, the best blood that has flowed since the Lord’s Christ,’ he says.  ‘The wrath of God,’ he says, ‘will abide upon you.’  The old gentleman was a powerful denouncer when he was in the spirit of it—­”

“Come, come, Keaton, hurry, for God’s sake—­get on!”

“And he made ’em so mad, a-settin’ up there so peart and brave before ‘em, givin’ ’em as good as they sent—­givin’ ’em hell right to their faces, you might say, that at last they made for him, some of them that you could see had been puttin’ a new faucet into the cider barrel.  I saw they meant to do him a mischief—­but Lord! what could I do against fifty, being then in the midst of a chill?  Well, they drug him off the seat, and said, ’Now, you old rat, own up that Holy Joe was a danged fraud;’ or something like that.  But he was that sanctified and stubborn—­’ Better to suffer stripes for the testimony of Christ,’ he says, ‘than to fall by the sin of denial!’ Then they drug him to the bank, one on each side, and says, ’We baptise you in the holy name of Brockman,’ and in they dumped him—­backwards, mind you!  I saw then they was in a slippery place where it was deep and the current awful strong.  But they hauled him out, and says again, ’Do you renounce Holy Joe Smith and all his works?’ The poor old fellow couldn’t talk a word for the chill, but he shook his head like sixty—­as stubborn as you’d wish.  So they said, ’Damn you! here’s another, then.  We baptise you in the name of James K. Polk, President of the United States!’ and in they threw him again.  Whether they done it on purpose or not, I wouldn’t like to say, but that time his coat collar slipped out of their hands and down he went.  He came up ten feet down-stream and quite a ways out, and they hooted at him.  I seen him come up once after that, and then they see he couldn’t swim a stroke, but little they cared.  And I never saw him again.  I jest took hold of the team and drove it on the boat, scared to death for what you’d do when you come,—­so I kept still and they kept still.  But remember, it’s only another debt the blood of the Gentiles will have to pay—­”

“Either here on earth or in hell,” said the Bishop.

“And the soul of your poor pa is now warm and dry and happy in the presence of his Lord God.”

CHAPTER VI.

The Lute of the Holy Ghost Is Further Chastened