“Brethren,” said the deacon, arising during the closing cadence of a hymn, “the consolations of our blessed religion often reach a man in most unexpected ways, and we have among us to-night a living example of it.  One of our fellow-citizens who left us, against his will, I may say, about two years ago, found the pearl of great price in the cell of a prison.  He has come here to-night to testify to the hope that is within him.  He feels that he is weak and halting of speech, but, blessed be the spirit of our Master, that makes all of us brothers, it does not take eloquence or superfluity of words to let out anything that the heart is full of.  I ask the attention and sympathy of all present for our brother Samuel Kimper.”

As the deacon sat down he put his powerful arm under the shoulder of his companion, and Sam Kimper found himself upon his feet.  The frightened man looked down at the cushion of the seat in front of him; then he tried to look around, but there was so much hard curiosity in each face upon which his eyes fell that he speedily looked down again and leaned heavily upon the back of the bench upon which his hands rested.  Finally he cleared his throat and said,—­

“Ladies an’ gentlemen, I’ve been in State prison nearly two years.  I deserved it.  Lots of folks talked kind to me before I went; some of ‘em’s here to-night, an’ I thank ’em for what they done.  A good many of ’em talked religion to me, but the more they talked the less I understood ’em.  I guess ’twas my fault; I never had much head-piece, while some of them had.  But when I was in the prison a man come along that talked to me about Jesus like I never was talked to before.  Somehow I could understand what he was drivin’ at.  He made me feel that I had a friend that I could foller, even if I didn’t keep up with him all the time, owin’ to things in the road that I hadn’t knowed about.  He told me if I’d b’lieve in Jesus as I b’lieved in Andrew Jackson, I’d pull through in the course of time.  I’ve been tryin’ to do it, an’ while I was in the jail I got lots of new idees of how I ort to behave myself, all from a little book that man left me, that didn’t have nothin’ in it but Jesus’ own words.  I’m a-goin’ to keep on at it, an’ if I can’t live that way I’m goin’ to die a-tryin’.  I b’lieve that’s all I’ve got to say, ladies and gentlemen.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment after Sam sat down.  The minister in charge of the meeting said afterwards that the remarks were not exactly what he had expected, and he did not know, at such short notice, how to answer them.  Suddenly a hymn was started by a voice which every one knew, though they seldom heard it in prayer-meeting.  It belonged to Judge Prency’s wife, who for years had been the mainstay of every musical entertainment which had been dependent upon local talent.  The hymn began,—­

     Am I a soldier of the cross,

and the assemblage sang it with great force and spirit.  The meeting was closed soon afterwards; and as Sam, in spite of an occasional kind greeting, was endeavoring to escape from the hard stare of curious eyes, Mrs. Judge Prency, who was the handsomest and most distinguished woman in the village, stopped him, grasped his hand, and said,—­