ville, and we started from there down Green River to the Ohio. There was Brother Hunter, and Sister Hunter, and young Sister Hunter, their son Sam's wife-one of the godliest women you ever saw, and her baby, that was just three months old. And there was me. Then there was a' unregenerate deck-hand, and Sister Hunter's little fice dog. "The Floating Bethel was made this way There was two stories. The lower one was one long room, like a church, with the pulpit at one end, and benches set in rows all the way back, and big doors opening out on both sides, so's the gang-planks could be laid right to them for the people to get in easy, and the devil wouldn't have any room to talk about religious folks holding themselves SO up and above others. The top story had a hall down the middle, and sleeping-rooms on each side. We cat in the hall, and had one of the little rooms for a kitchen. Then there was a real nice little steeple on top. Of course, we never had no way to make ourselves go, so Brother Hunter 'd have to hire a steamboat or tugboat to pull us from place to place. When we left Sandersville, he got the Green River Packet to take us a piece. "Most all of Sandersville was there to see us off. The saved on the bank they all sung a hymn and waved their handkerchiefs at us. I felt plumb scared and lonesome when we pulled off, and wished I was back home at the Station. But Sister Hunter she went upstairs to get supper, and Brother Hunter he read the Bible and talked till I got ashamed of myself, and didn't feel afraid any more, but would have just been willing to jump right out into the river if I'd had the call from the Lord, and me not knowing how to swim a lick, neither. 66 When I woke up next morning we was tied up at a town, and the packet it had left us, and Brother Hunter and Brother Gummy and the deck-hand were out throwing around posters that Brother Hunter had had struck off at Sandersville, like this: ETERNITY! Where will you spend it? THE FLOATING BETHEL is here! Preaching Day and Night. Come one! Come all! PREPARE TO MEET YOUR GOD! FLEE FROM THE WRATH TO COME! out. "It was wonderful to see how quick it got norated around, and how the people was moved to turn By ten o'clock there was a big crowd standing on the bank looking at the Floating Bethel, and then Brother Hunter he got back and invited them all, black and white, in to hear the preaching. Brother Hunter preached, and me and Brother Gummy sung, and young Sister Hunter played the accordeon when the baby 'd let her. Brother Hunter he 'd give it to the sinners, and preach about the burning pit and the Old Adam and the carnal mind and the wages of sin is death, and how smart the devil was, and how deceiving. Then he'd tell 'em about salvation, and that now was their chance to lay holt on free grace and forgiveness of sins, and maybe it would be the last time the Spirit would ever speak to them. Then we'd sing a song, with the accordeon, Amazing Grace,' or 'The Pleasing Path,' or something like that: I once was lost, but now I'm found, Was blind, but now I see! We are passing away, we are passing away, We are passing away to the great Judgment Day. "We'd have preaching pretty near all day, and then again at night. The sinners would mostly get warmed up at night. We stayed at that first place three days, and got the folks consid❜ably stirred up, and then a tug-boat come along, and Brother Hunter said he 'd sowed and watered and the Lord must quicken, and we went on to the next place. We kept on down the Ohio, stopping at Evansville and Henderson and Shawneetown, and all the little towns between. Sometimes we wouldn't stop more than a day; it was just as Brother Hunter felt led, and as the boats come along to pull us. Sometimes we'd have to quit right in the middle of a sermon and run the congregation out and move on. When we got to Cairo we stopped a whole week, and had a regular hallelujah time. Then Brother Hunter said it did seem a pity, being that close, not to give the folks at St. Louis a chance of salvation,-that being such a terrible lost place, a plumb Sodom and Gomorrah and Satan's stomping ground. So we went up there. The first day or two there wasn't anybody come to hear us, because we had got out of posters by that time. But Brother Hunter he had some more struck off, and hired boys to throw them over town, and then the people commenced to fairly roll in. 66 One day, after we 'd been there three or four days, me and young Sister Hunter went uptown to buy some saxony to knit the baby a sack. The store we went into was a great big place, taking up a whole square. A man told us where to find the saxony counter, and we went on back, and young Sister Hunter commenced I was to price the the saxony. plumb outdone by the worldliness in that store! There was all sorts of things to buy that you ever heard tell of, and the ladies they was pulling and dragging all kinds of goods about, and talking as fast as they could, and half of them looked like they was plumb distracted. It made me miserable to think how people was wearing out their lives getting clothes when they never had no time to think of getting salvation. "I kept looking around, though it did hurt my soul awful to see so much vanity. Once I thought I'd shut my eyes and wouldn't look any more; but just then I saw such a pretty lady at the next counter, with such lovely yellow hair and rosy cheeks and white skin, and dressed so beautiful, that I couldn't keep my eyes off of her. Then there was a young girl with her that had awful pretty yellow hair, too, frizzed out a' inch or two all over her head. I couldn't see the girl's face, but there was something about her motions that reminded me of somebody, I couldn't tell who. I knew I never had no friends with such pretty hair as that. I kept watching for her to turn her face around. Presently she did. 'Maggie!' I says, running over quick, and hugging and kissing her, Why, Maggie Marks! Is it really you? You sweet thing. I'm so glad to see you!' Her face turned red in all the white places, and she kind of drew off. I supposed she was ashamed of me and my old black dress and hat, and I couldn't blame her much, for according to her light my clothes did look mighty bad by the side of her silk dress with the little flowers and lace all over it, and her big hat with piles of feathers. Maggie,' I says, don't you know me? You haven't forgot Babe, have you? Don't you know how you and me used to play together all the time at the Station, and be such dear friends? Why, I'd have knew you anywheres, in spite of your hair turning light!' I never knew you just at first,' she says, 'not expecting to see you here.' "I'm here with the Floating Bethel,' I says, 'down on the river. And it's so nice to see somebody from home! I've been feeling so lonesome. And I'm so surprised to find you here, Maggie,' I says. 'When did you come, and where are you working ?' 'I ain't working anywheres,' she says. Why, then you're married, of course! I says. 'Well, I do think you might have wrote us something about it,' I says. 'No; I ain't married neither,' she says. I'm just visiting a lady friend,— that lady there,' she says, pointing at the beautiful lady, who's just walked off a little piece. 'Well, it's mighty nice to see you again,' I says. 'And you must come right down to see me,' I says. I'll be here two or three weeks, down at the Floating Bethel, on the river. You won't have no trouble finding it.' 'All right,' she says, maybe I will; I've got to go now.' The lady was standing in the store door, looking back after her, and she run and caught up, and I saw them get in a fine carriage with two horses, and ride off. I felt right hurt at Maggie not asking me to come and see her. But I knew how pride puffeth up, and didn't blame her for being ashamed of the outside of me. Still, when I thought how Maggie and me had lived next door since we was babies, and till her ma died when she was fourteen, and her pa took to drink, and they left the Station, and how we was together all the time, and used to spend the night with each other pretty near every night, and play 'lady-cometo-see in our stable loft all the rainy days, and gather blackberries and sweet-gum and hazelnuts and things, and just growed up together, so to speak, why then I did feel pretty bad to think of her noticing my old clothes. I just felt like I couldn't help crying. But then I remembered that it wasn't Maggie treating me thataway, but the devil himself, that loves to persecute the righteous, 'Yea, and all them that live godly in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution,' and I didn't lay it up against her, because I kept remembering those days we played together, and that she was my friend. Young Sister Hunter had got her saxony by this time, and we went on back to the Floating Bethel. I was glad to get out of the worldliness of them stores and streets. People was a-pushing and a-crowding each other, and gazing in the store windows, and never speaking to each other, or acting a bit neighbourly, or like they lived in the same town. "All during preaching that night I couldn't get Maggie out of my head. I kept wondering how she fell in with such rich friends, and how she ever got to St. Louis anyhow. I'd heard, a year or two after they left the Station, that Maggie had gone to work in some big cotton mills, and was making good money. I couldn't account no way for her being away over in St. Louis, and with such stylish folks, because, though Maggie was always a nice, sweet girl, her folks was shiftless people, all except her ma. I tried not to think about the way Maggie treated me, and sung as loud as I could, and did all I could to help save the sinners. There was a pretty good crowd there, and lots of them that had come to scoff stayed to pray. There was all sorts. Some would come there drunk, and lay down and go to sleep on the benches. Lots was in rags, and awful dirty. Then there was nicer dressed people, too, though the Lord knows if their hearts was any cleaner. "After we'd been there about two weeks there was a good many convictions, and a good many came through and got religion, and commenced living righteous. One night, about this time, while Brother Gummy and me was singing the opening hymn, "With all my sins I come to Thee! it came to me all of a sudden that I must get up and preach on that line. I felt the strongest kind of leading just moved mightily of the Spirit. So, after we finished the song, I went up and said to Brother Hunter, Brother Hunter, I feel called to preach this evening.' So he went and set with the people, and I got up in the pulpit and read from First John, chapter first and second, and preached from the text, 'The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.' "I couldn't tell you just what I did say though, of course, it wasn't me saying it, but the Spirit saying it through me. I just knew I felt like Jesus was standing right there, and I was pleading with 'em all to come and fall down at His dear feet, and be washed from all unrighteousness, and made whiter than snow. I felt somehow like I was talking to some lost soul having its last chance. I told 'em it didn't make any difference what they'd done, or what their sins was; that He was mightier than the power of sin, and could sweep it all off with one touch, if they'd just call on Him-just lift up their eyes! told 'em how dear their souls was to the Master, and how He'd come down and suffered and died for them, and how loving he washow He was standing there with I His arms stretched out, and His eyes like mothers' eyes, longing to save 'em and blot out their sins. I just wept and pleaded with 'em. Look like the words come quicker than I could say them. When I finished I was completely give out. I was so faint I went over to the water-bucket that set by the door to give me a drink, and I run right up against somebody standing outside in the shadow. I could see it was a woman. She pulled herself back in the dark, quick, and when I reached out my hand after her, she ran along the gang-plank, and up the bank, and was gone. About a week after that I was sitting out on the guards reading the Bible to an old blind woman and a cripple boy that was seeking the way, and trying to teach 'em all I could before we left, for Brother Hunter said we'd have to be moving on in a day or two; and here come a boy dressed in blue clothes and red braid, and give me a note. I opened it quick. It said: 'Maggie is dying and wants you. Come if possible. The messenger will bring you.' There wasn't any name signed. It had on the outside, Miss Babe Baxter, Floating Bethel.' I run quick for my hat, and me and the boy walked a piece, and then took a street-car, and rode a long ways. Finally we got off, and walked a square more, and then the boy opened the gate before a fine brick house with coloured glass in the windows, and white stone steps, and took me to the door and rung the bell. Maggie's friend, the same lady that was in the store with her that day, came to the door and let me in. Her face was all white and pale now. 'I wouldn't have sent for you,' she says, 'but Maggie's been calling for you three days and nights, and the doctor says she can't live.' "I followed her upstairs. The carpet was so soft and pretty I hated to step on it. There was some other ladies in the hall upstairs, whispering and crying. She took me in a room and shut the door. Maggie was laying high up on the pillows, her eyes all bright, and big red spots on her cheeks, and her face all thin. She put out her arms when she saw me. 'I thought you never was coming!' she says. 'I've been waiting and waiting for you. I am afraid to die by myself.' I kissed her, and held her close in my arms. 'Darling child,' I says, you mustn't be afraid to die. Why, it's lots better than living. When you die you'll think you never did live before. The dear Jesus and the dear Father's just a-waiting there for you!' Oh, I ain't so afraid of meeting them,' she says. 'I don't mind that so much. It's my mother I can't bear to see! That's what I can't stand! Oh, I'm so scared, Babe! It's awful to die!' She held my arm so tight it hurt me. 'Why, darling,' I says, "you just talking thataway because you ain't at yourself. Why, your dear ma's just a-waiting there, and a-longing for you. Why, you're her own dear child, Maggie.' 'No, I ain't she says. 'I ain't her child no more! I ain't good; I ain't good like I used to be, Babe. You don't know, you don't understand. We're all wicked here. I never meant to be, Babe, but― I'll tell you all about it sometime when I can talk better. Now I'm afraid-afraid! Oh, Babe, help me! hide me! Don't let mother see me ! I couldn't stand that!' "Look to me like my heart stood still. But I held her tighter and closer. 'Maggie, dear child,' I says, you are safe! It's the dear Jesus that loves you and will save you from your sins. He's done said so, dear. Just look up to Him, and He'll forgive you, and One take you right to His bosom. That's what He came into the world for, to save sinners. And you ain't the only sinner, Maggie; we're all sinners till we get the love of Christ in our hearts. ain't no worse than the other, though some have been tempted a heap more. He don't hate you because you have been tempted and sinned. He knows all about it, dear, and loves you just the same. And so do I, too, just the same as when we used to swing and play dolls in the hayloft all day together. Don't you remember it, Maggie? And Jesus is right here with His tender, loving eyes, bending right over you, dear child, calling you home to Him. Just put all your trust in Him, and don't take no trouble about it, but leave it all to the dear Master.' "But the sins!' she says, shivering. 'There's SO many, Babe, they're so black!' "He'll wash 'em all off,' I says, 'till you're whiter than snow!' "But do you reckon He could wash 'em off right quick-before mother 'll see me?' she says. "Indeed He can,' I says, and He's washing mightily right now! I can just see the spots fading off, dear, and your soul getting clean and white, like you was a little baby. They're coming off one by one, bless the Lord! And when your ma sees you there won't be none on you, and she won't never know, Maggie. Just think of it! You'll just be her same little girl that she left! I can just see them getting dimmer and dimmer and dimmer-and now you're plumb white and shining! Bless the dear Lord!' "She fell back in my arms, smiling so sweet and peaceful, and I just wept and wept for joy. The lady was kneeling at the foot of the bed, crying like her heart would break. Maggie fell into a deep sleep, and I still kept |