So we children all knew that the grown people scarcely could stand Isaac's speech, and prayer, and song, and that they were afraid to tell him plain out that he did more harm than good.

Every meeting about the third man up was Isaac, and we had to watch him wave, and rant, and go sing-songy: "Oh brethering and sistering--ah, It delights my heart--ah to gather with you, In this holy house of worship--ah.
In his sacred word--ah, The Lord--ah tells us, That we are all his childring--ah.
And now, lemme exhort you to-night--ah, As one that loves you--ah, To choose that good part, that Mary chose--ah, That the worrrr-uld kin neither give ner take away--ah." That went on until he was hoarse, then he prayed, and arose and sang his song.

Other men spoke where they stood.

Isaac always walked to the altar, faced the people, and he was tired out when he finished, but so proud of himself, so happy, and he felt so sure that his efforts were worth a warm bed, sausage, pancakes, maple syrup, and coffee for breakfast, that it was mighty seldom he failed to fool some one else into thinking so too, and if he could, he wouldn't have to walk four miles home on cold nights, with no overcoat.

In summer, mostly, they let him go.