And yet his very appearance was a sermon in itself against the institution he had held up to public condemnation on that occasion.

His knee wound proved very stubborn, and he limped badly.

That in itself spoke eloquently of the dastardly attempt on his life.

His face was pale, and he had grown thin.
His shoulder was stiff and the enforced quietness of his delivery contrasted strangely with his customary fiery appearance on the platform.
Altogether that first Sunday of his reappearance in his pulpit was a stronger sermon against the saloon than anything he could have spoken or written.
When the first Sunday in the next month came on, Philip was more like his old self.

He had gathered strength enough to go around two Sunday afternoons and note for himself the desecration of the day as it went on recklessly.