For a long time, while the old clock ticked on the mantel before him and the big cat purred or slept under his absent pettings, his mind moved through an incident of that early ministry.
Clear in his memory were certain passages of fire from the sermon.

In the little log church at Edom he had felt the spirit burn in him and he had movingly voiced its warnings of that dread place where the flames forever blaze, yet never consume; where cries ever go up for one drop of water to cool the parched tongues of those who sought not God while they lived.

He had told of one who died--one that the world called good, a moral man--but not a Christian; one who had perversely neglected the way of life.

How, on his death-bed, this one had called in agony for a last glass of water, seeming to know all at once that he would now be where no drop of water could cool him through all eternity.
So effective had been his putting of this that a terrified throng came forward at his call for converts.
The next morning he had ridden away from Edom toward Felton Falls to preach there.

A mile out of town he had been accosted by a big, bearded man who had yet a singularly childish look--who urged that he come to his cabin to minister to a sick friend.