Silence possessed the room for a few moments, the while Theron, pale-faced and with brows knit, studied the pattern of the ingrain carpet.  Then he lifted his head, and nodded it in assent.  “Yes,” he said; “we will do nothing by which our ’brother stumbleth, or is offended, or is made weak.’”

Brother Pierce’s parchment face showed no sign of surprise or pleasure at this easy submission.  “Another thing:  We don’t want no book-learnin’ or dictionary words in our pulpit,” he went on coldly.  “Some folks may stomach ’em; we won’t.  Them two sermons o’ yours, p’r’aps they’d do down in some city place; but they’re like your wife’s bunnit here, they’re too flowery to suit us.  What we want to hear is the plain, old-fashioned Word of God, without any palaver or ’hems and ha’s.  They tell me there’s some parts where hell’s treated as played-out—­where our ministers don’t like to talk much about it because people don’t want to hear about it.  Such preachers ought to be put out.  They ain’t Methodists at all.  What we want here, sir, is straight-out, flat-footed hell—­the burnin’ lake o’ fire an’ brim-stone.  Pour it into ’em, hot an’ strong.  We can’t have too much of it.  Work in them awful deathbeds of Voltaire an’ Tom Paine, with the Devil right there in the room, reachin’ for ‘em, an’ they yellin’ for fright; that’s what fills the anxious seat an’ brings in souls hand over fist.”

Theron’s tongue dallied for an instant with the temptation to comment upon these old-wife fables, which were so dear to the rural religious heart when he and I were boys.  But it seemed wiser to only nod again, and let his mentor go on.

“We ain’t had no trouble with the Free Methodists here,” continued Brother Pierce, “jest because we kept to the old paths, an’ seek for salvation in the good old way.  Everybody can shout ‘Amen!’ as loud and as long as the Spirit moves him, with us.  Some one was sayin’ you thought we ought to have a choir and an organ.  No, sirree!  No such tom-foolery for us!  You’ll only stir up feelin’ agin yourself by hintin’ at such things.  And then, too, our folks don’t take no stock in all that pack o’ nonsense about science, such as tellin’ the age of the earth by crackin’ up stones.  I’ve b’en in the quarry line all my life, an’ I know it’s all humbug!  Why, they say some folks are goin’ round now preachin’ that our grandfathers were all monkeys.  That comes from departin’ from the ways of our forefathers, an puttin’ in organs an’ choirs, an’ deckin’ our women-folks out with gewgaws, an’ apin’ the fashions of the worldly.  I shouldn’t wonder if them kind did have some monkey blood in ’em.  You’ll find we’re a different sort here.”

The young minister preserved silence for a little, until it became apparent that the old trustee had had his say out.  Even then he raised his head slowly, and at last made answer in a hesitating and irresolute way.