But as the zigzag panels of the rail fence crept behind him, and he felt the freedom of the morning beginning to act upon his well-trained blood, the mechanical manner of the old man’s mind gave place to a mild exuberance.  A weight seemed to be lifting from it ounce by ounce as the fence panels, the weedy corners, the persimmon sprouts and sassafras bushes crept away behind him, so that by the time a mile lay between him and the life partner of his joys and sorrows he was in a reasonably contented frame of mind, and still improving.

It was a queer figure that crept along the road that cheery May morning.  It was tall and gaunt, and had been for thirty years or more.  The long head, bald on top, covered behind with iron-gray hair, and in front with a short tangled growth that curled and kinked in every direction, was surmounted by an old-fashioned stove-pipe hat, worn and stained, but eminently impressive.  An old-fashioned Henry Clay cloth coat, stained and threadbare, divided itself impartially over the donkey’s back and dangled on his sides.  This was all that remained of the elder’s wedding suit of forty years ago.  Only constant care, and use of late years limited to extra occasions, had preserved it so long.  The trousers had soon parted company with their friends.  The substitutes were red jeans, which, while they did not well match his court costume, were better able to withstand the old man’s abuse, for if, in addition to his frequent religious excursions astride his beast, there ever was a man who was fond of sitting down with his feet higher than his head, it was this selfsame Elder Brown.

The morning expanded, and the old man expanded with it; for while a vigorous leader in his church, the elder at home was, it must be admitted, an uncomplaining slave.  To the intense astonishment of the beast he rode, there came new vigor into the whacks which fell upon his flanks; and the beast allowed astonishment to surprise him into real life and decided motion.  Somewhere in the elder’s expanding soul a tune had begun to ring.  Possibly he took up the far, faint tune that came from the straggling gang of negroes away off in the field, as they slowly chopped amid the threadlike rows of cotton plants which lined the level ground, for the melody he hummed softly and then sang strongly, in the quavering, catchy tones of a good old country churchman, was “I’m glad salvation’s free.”

It was during the singing of this hymn that Elder Brown’s regular motion-inspiring strokes were for the first time varied.  He began to hold his hickory up at certain pauses in the melody, and beat the changes upon the sides of his astonished steed.  The chorus under this arrangement was: 

  I’m glad salvation’s free,
  I’m glad salvation’s free,
  I’m glad salvation’s free for all,
  I’m glad salvation’s free.