“Wot I says in de pulpit,” he remarked, “I’ll ‘splain in de pulpit, an’ you all ud better git ‘long to de chu’ch, an’ when de time fur de sarvice come, I’ll be dar.”

This advice was not promptly acted upon, but in the course of half an hour nearly all the villagers and loungers had gone off to the church in the woods; and when Uncle Peter had put on his high black hat, somewhat battered, but still sufficiently clerical looking for that congregation, and had given something of a polish to his cowhide shoes, he betook himself by the accustomed path to the log building where he had so often held forth to his people.  As soon as he entered the church he was formally instructed by a committee of the leading members that before he began to open the services, he must make it plain to the congregation that what he had said on the preceding Sunday about every woman being possessed by seven devils was Scripture truth, and not mere wicked nonsense out of his own brain.  If he could not do that, they wanted no more praying or preaching from him.

Uncle Peter made no answer, but, ascending the little pulpit, he put his hat on the bench behind him where it was used to repose, took out his red cotton handkerchief and blew his nose in his accustomed way, and looked about him.  The house was crowded.  Even Aunt Rebecca was there.

After a deliberate survey of his audience the preacher spoke:  “Brev’eren an’ sisters, I see afore me Brudder Bill Hines, who kin read de Bible, an’ has got one.  Ain’t dat so, Brudder?”

Bill Hines having nodded and modestly grunted assent, the preacher continued.  “An’ dars’ Aun’ Priscilla’s boy, Jake, who ain’t a brudder yit, though he’s plenty old ‘nuf, min’, I tell ye; an’ he kin read de Bible, fus’ rate, an’ has read it ter me ober an’ ober ag’in.  Ain’t dat so, Jake?”

Jake grinned, nodded, and hung his head, very uncomfortable at being thus publicly pointed out.

“An’ dar’s good ole Aun’ Patty, who knows more Scripter’ dan ennybuddy h’yar, havin’ been teached by de little gals from Kunnel Jasper’s an’ by dere mudders afore ’em.  I reckin she know’ de hull Bible straight froo, from de Garden of Eden to de New Jerus’lum.  An’ dar are udders h’yar who knows de Scripters, some one part an’ some anudder.  Now I axes ebery one ob you all wot know de Scripters ef he don’ ’member how de Bible tells how our Lor’ when he was on dis yearth cas’ seben debbils out o’ Mary Magdalum?”

A murmur of assent came from the congregation.  Most of them remembered that.

“But did enny ob you ebber read, or hab read to you, dat he ebber cas’ ’em out o’enny udder woman?”

Negative grunts and shakes of the head signified that nobody had ever heard of this.

“Well, den,” said the preacher, gazing blandly around, “all de udder women got ’em yit.”

A deep silence fell upon the assembly, and in a few moments an elderly member arose.  “Brudder Pete,” he said, “I reckin you mought as well gib out de hyme.”