THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 A TALE OF THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS. 
 
 THE 
 
 NO BUS'NESS 
 
 W. K BARTOH. 
 
 COPYRIGHT 188T. 
 
 OBERLIN, O.: 
 
 PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR BY THE OBERLIN NEWS. 
 
 1S8T.
 
 TO 
 
 MY iSISTEK 
 MAY.
 
 PS 
 
 THE WIND-UP OF THE BIG MEETIN' 
 
 ON NO BUS' NESS. 
 
 I. 
 
 "They will be night meetin' hyur tonight at 
 early candle-lightin', an the meetin' '11 wind Lip 
 termorrer. At the wind up of the meetin' we'll 
 open the doors of the church an' babiize them 
 candidates that desires fur to be babtized. I 
 reckon this hyur has been norated aready so's 
 every person understans it. An' neow ef all 
 minds is discharged we'll crave the benediction." 
 
 So spoke Brother Jeems Albright at the close 
 of the service on Saturday afternoon in the No 
 Bus'ness church-house. All minds seemed to 
 be discharged whatever that may mean 
 and the benediction was "craved." Tom Baker 
 and the other young men with him sat near the 
 door and were the first outside, where they 
 joined a larger company of their own age who 
 had not been in, or if in at all had remained but 
 a short time, and returned to watch the horses, 
 preferring the genial society of those who sat 
 around on logs in the woods, to the instruction 
 administered in allopathic doses to those within. 
 
 447936
 
 4 THE WIXD-UP OF THE 
 
 Iii a more leisurely manner the remainder of 
 the congregation moved out, and for some time 
 remained standing around in knots and invit 
 ing each other to go home with them. He who 
 
 O w 
 
 had but one spare bed invited from a dozen to 
 forty guests, and he who lived a mile from the 
 church-house was invited to "go by" with him 
 who lived five. Indeed, each family ran a 
 whole gauntlet of invitations; being invited to 
 go by with almost every other family present, 
 and generally declining and returning the in 
 vitation 110 matter how certain that it would 
 not be accepted. 
 
 Slowly the church house disgorged its con 
 gregation; and when at last the half-dozen 
 preachers emerged with saddle-bags on their 
 arms, it stood vacant. Not a very stylish edifice, 
 this temple in the backwoods of Kentucky a 
 mere log pen with a leaky roof, the cracks be 
 tween the logs daubed with mud and covered on 
 the inside with strips split from logs. The floor 
 was puncheon; the seats were rough, backless 
 affairs with holes bored through for the legs, 
 which projected an inch or more beyond the 
 surface of the bench, making a rather uncom 
 fortable seat for the second person from the 
 end. The older seats were hewn out; and the 
 . newer ones were made by driving legs into slabs
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS' NESS. 5 
 
 from the saw mill. This saw mill, by the way r 
 was a new enterprise, and one that had in a 
 degree revolutionized life on No Bus'ness. It 
 made a variety of unseemly sounds on the 
 hitherto solemnly silent stream, waking with 
 its shrill whistle the angry echoes, which mock 
 ingly answered the voice of the unwelcome 
 visitor; and the hills took up the sound and told 
 it to the hills beyond, and these in a fainter 
 voice to hills yet more remote, and hill answered 
 hill until all the woods seemed peopled with 
 strange, weird voices joined in an uncanny 
 chorus of threatening and mocking enough ta 
 have frightened a timid or superstitious saw 
 mill into repentance for its rash intrusion into 
 such a region. But the saw mill held its 
 ground, and day after day puffed and whistled 
 and sputtered away on the lonely stream. 
 
 For No Bus'ness is a creek. A legend is 
 current concerning the name, that the first 
 man who ascended the stream returned with 
 the report that "A human haint got no bus'- 
 ness up that ar creek." A good many humans, 
 however, subsequently found their way up that 
 ar creek and stayed there. They named the 
 creek's two tributaries respectively "Trouble- 
 some" and "Dif/zculty", and the main stream re 
 tained its enigmatical appellation, l 'No Bus'-
 
 <5 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 ness." It is a rapid mountain torrent, at times 
 almost dry, at others "swimmin'-deep." The 
 number of feet which it can rise in a few 
 hours is something almost incredible, and al 
 though the periods of its rampage are as brief 
 as violent, it is looked upon with good reason 
 as a very fickle-minded, treacherous stream. 
 
 On either side rise high perpendicular bluffs, 
 between which from the valley below, only a 
 small segment of the sky is visible; and the^feel- 
 ing comes and grows upon one, that the little 
 world along the creek is very much farther from 
 heaven than the tops of the parallel bluffs on 
 either side. What mighty cliffs they are ! Three 
 hundred feet of sandstone with a thick stratum 
 of fossiliferous limestone, then sandstone 
 with traces of coal, and the whole surmount 
 ed by hard conglomerate, rising in majestic 
 castles and standing out in overhanging masses 
 beyond the softer rock below. A. geologist had 
 once visited No Bus'ness. He had hired his 
 board for a week at old 'Lijah Kale's and had 
 roamed up the creek and over the hills in a de 
 light which the open-eyed natives had at first 
 regarded as insane. Later they brought him 
 queer rocks which had been saved by the chil 
 dren as "purties" and asked him if the quartz 
 crystals from geodes were diamonds. They
 
 BIG MEETIN ON NO BUS NESS. 7 
 
 gathered about him in wonder while he talked 
 of things which they understood as little as 
 Sanskrit; surprised that so great a man should 
 go to such botherment to learn so much about 
 jest rocks. But when he showed to the little 
 company which nightly gathered at old 'Li jail's, 
 the fossils he had collected, and talked of 
 the vast ages which had' elapsed shice these fos 
 sils had lived, and told them that the creek had 
 once flowed on top of the bluff and gradually 
 through untold ages worn its bed through the 
 solid rock to its present depression, they at 
 tempted to remonstrate with him, and failing 
 to change his opinion pronounced him "a nin- 
 fidel," and warned him to leave. Jake Finch 
 was most active in driving him off, com 
 bining business with pleasure, and his anxiety 
 for the public welfare with the redress of an in 
 jury which he had suffered in his feelings by 
 reason of a rebuke administered by said geolo 
 gist. 
 
 "He treated me mighty abrupt," said Jake. 
 "He come up an' went to sorter nosin' around 
 over my farm, an' thinks me I'll jes' sorter go 
 long, sez I, kase theys a lead mind somers on my 
 farm that the Injuns used ter run bullets from, 
 'n' ef he finds 'er, sez I, I want to be somers 
 round, sez I; 'n' I've heard tell of that ar Swift
 
 8 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 silver mind roun' hyur or over in Whitley, one, 
 an' thinks me, mebbe she's hyur. An' we come 
 down by the branch whar we het the rocks at, 
 fur to drap in the bar'l fur to bile the water fur 
 to .scald hogs, V ee picked up a piece of a rock 
 what had busted wen I drapped her into the 
 water. Hit war a powerful curus rock hit 
 war plum round an' sorter holler on both sides, 
 sorter like a deesh. I 'member sorter noticin' 
 of it wen I picked 'er up, an' a thinkin' I'd 
 take 'er home fur the chaps to play with fur 
 'em a purty, or to hole the shetter to the door 
 open, but I jest 'lowed twarnt while to tote her 
 up to the house, kase one of the heenges to the 
 door is broke an' I haint got round to cut me a 
 with fur to make another one V so the shetter 
 to the door sorter stays open 'tlwut nuthin fur 
 ter hold 'er. An' thinks me, I've got ye picked 
 up now, V ef I drap ye I'll jes' hatter pick up 
 'nother, so in ye go, sez I. An wen she got 
 hot an' I drapped 'er inter the water she busted. 
 Wai, ef twarnt a plum sight in the world to see 
 that feller wen he found it. He acted like he'd 
 cry. He said hit war a sorter mill fur ter grin' 
 corn that some ole feller a Injun or some ole 
 coot hed sorter made him fur to grind him his 
 grist. An' wen I tole the feller 'bout me a-nn'in' 
 it an' how come 'er broke, he got plum cat-
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 9 
 
 awarapus, 'Warn't they rocks 'nuff 'roun' 
 thont you a takin 1 that air un ?' sez ee. Sez I, 
 'You needn't afeel so bad,' sez I. 'They grind 
 of a Saturday down to the saw mill, an' ole 
 Preacher Jake Watts he's got him a water mill 
 up on Bull Creek and grin's wen theys a fraish 
 in the creek, an' ole Tom Giles up on the back 
 bone has got him a hit-'em-agin fur dry 
 weather 'th a hole burnt out of a hick'ry stump 
 an' a sweep sorter lack a well sweep 'th a iron 
 waige in the eend of it fur to jerk down 'th a 
 rope an' keep a hittin' twell she's gits sorter 
 fine,' sez I. 'Theys mills nuff, sez I, ef you've 
 got any grin'in', sez I, 'thoufc awantin' ye any 
 sich a audashus ole rig as thet ar, 1 sez I. 'Feared 
 like that ort ter a pacified him, but hit made 
 him madder. 'Ef you'd a knowd as much,' sez 
 ee, 'ez the man wut made that ar mortar,' sez 
 ee, 'you'd a knowd morn to a busted 'er wen 
 they warnt no need fur it,' sezee. An' I sorter 
 got a leetle ashy an' sez I, 'You dag-gonned ole 
 infidel,' sez I, 'wut d'ye mean?' sez I. 'You 
 acomin' 'round hyur a smashin' rocks an' a 
 huntin' ye up ole holler rocks,' sez I, 'fur yer 
 wife ter grind 'er corn,' sez I, 'stidder you a stay- 
 in' to hum an' a totin hit to mill fur 'er,' sez I, 
 'Dag-gon yer dog-gonned pictur! You git out o' 
 hyur! an' clar out orfum this hyur branch,' sez
 
 10 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 I, Ve haint got no use fur a n infidel,' sez I. 'Go 
 home 'n' crack corn 'th that ar . hammer o' 
 yourn ef you want a mill,' sez 1, l dag-gon your 
 dag-gouned skin! You git out o' hyur! Git 
 V stay got! or I'll git me a bresh and give ye a 
 ginteel good lint-en,' sez I." 
 
 Jake repeated this conversation to each fam 
 ily on the creek, adding to his own speech, and 
 increasing the number of maledictions with 
 each recitation, and growing more and more 
 abusive as the intelligence that the geologist 
 had "sure gone" became more evidently true. 
 And all the people said Amen, and whatever 
 may be said of "humans" in general, it is cer 
 tainly true that a geologist u haint got no bus'- 
 ness up that ar creek" even unto this day. The 
 horrified and injured feeling with which the visit 
 of that "infidel" is remembered will never be en 
 tirely removed. Even the discovery that the mill 
 hands, who came from Indiana, believed the 
 earth round, produced far less commotion. 
 
 During this long, tedious digression, the peo 
 ple whom we left in front of the church-house 
 when "meetin' broke.," have about completed 
 their preparations for departure. All the ac 
 ceptable invitations have been accepted, but 
 the form of inviting will be kept up as long as 
 two families are together.
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 
 
 "Go by, Dick, you'n your ole woman. 1 ' 
 "No, caint, I reckon. You all go up 'ith me. 11 
 
 "We would, but we caint leave handy; you all 
 best stay over to night meetinV 
 
 "No, I reckon not. We lef the chaps alone. 1 ' 
 
 "0, Marthy's big nuffi ter look atter them 
 you best stop over." 
 
 "No, I reckon we caint this time." 
 
 "Well, wy don't you never come an 1 bring 
 the children an' set with us a spell. Tears like 
 you've forsook us hyur." 
 
 "No, we haint forsook ye. We're 'bout ter 
 move clown V live off o' you alls. We'll git 
 back ter meetin r termorrer." 
 
 "Goodbye, then, ef nuthin' else won't do ye." 
 
 "Good bye." 
 
 A few of those who live at a distance have 
 decided to go by with those who live nearer. 
 Two of the preachers and a half-dozen of the vis 
 itors from the head waters of Troublesome and 
 Dif/i'eulty went home with Elijah Hale. And 
 Tom Baker went, also. He is the most impor 
 tant man in this story, not even excepting Breth 
 ren Jeems Albright and Ab Duncan, the two 
 preachers whom you see yonder, with saddle 
 bags behind them, on their lank steeds thread 
 ing the serpentine road down the point to Elijah 
 Kale's.
 
 12 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 Old 'Lijah Hale was one of the most prosper 
 ous men on No Bus'ness. The narrow valley 
 widened a few yards at his farm, and the hill 
 rose a little less perpendicularly, enabling him to 
 "make a crap" on its slope. There was corn in 
 his log crib until corn came again, and plenty 
 of bacon in his smoke house excepting in 
 those years when the mast was light, when 
 he may perhaps have run a little short of 
 that greasy but staple commodity. He was 
 looked up to as a man of influence in both 
 church and state, being an influential member 
 of the church, and a Justice of the Peace. The 
 shelf nailed to the beams above the door in his 
 house contained ''the niarster sight o' books 
 mighty nigh ever you seed' 1 leather bound 
 book?,, entitled "Acts 1 ' and "Statutes," "Proper 
 ty of the State of Kentucky." 'Lijah always 
 brought them out when he had a case to try, but 
 never read any from them, though he sometimes 
 looked vaguely through them under pretense of 
 hunting up the law. His verdicts were peculiar 
 to himself, the following being a specimen : 
 
 "Wall, IVe been a huutin' up the law, an' hit 
 don't kiver this case, 'pears like eenahow hit 
 don't hit the case center, p'int blank, the way 
 hit had oughter but jist atakin' a sorter com 
 mon sense view of the case, hit 'pears like ter
 
 BIG MEETIN 1 ON NO BUS'lSTESS. 13 
 
 me -that Rube hadn't oughter a hit Bob, an 1 Bob 
 he hadn't oughter a cussed Rube. An' I reckon 
 I best not find nary one 'o yer an' each feller 
 kin pay their own costis," which decision was 
 accepted by all parties as both legal and just. 
 
 Old 'Lijah had a numerous progeny. Three 
 or four of his oldest children were married, and 
 the ages of the others tapered regularly down 
 to Ben, aged eight, and Juley Ann, a spoiled 
 little miss of about six summers, and one ad 
 ditional autumn and winter. The oldest child 
 ren left at home were Lindy, aged seventeen, 
 and Thaddeus who was nut quite sixteen a big 
 awkward fellow whom every one called "Thad" 
 except on state occasions, when his father 
 called him Thaddea. 
 
 Lindy is a rosy, rather buxom miss. She 
 can ride a horse well as you notice, for Tom 
 has brought her horse and his around to the 
 three sections of unequal length cut from the 
 end of a log, upended so as to form a series of 
 steps from which a lady can mount 
 known as stile-blocks and Liudy sits erect in 
 her saddle and shows herself at ease there. She 
 does not often ride to church, her father and 
 mother using Old 'Lijah's two horses, but her 
 mother stayed at home today to arrange for the 
 meeting tomorrow, so Lindy rides her mother's
 
 14: THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 horse. Her movements on the ground ure 
 hardly graceful. Her step is not light, for her 
 shoes are heavy, and she walks chiefly to get 
 around. But on a horse she appears at her best. 
 So look well at her as she starts off with Tom 
 Baker somewhat bashfully riding beside her, 
 for Lindy makes her best appearance now, and 
 she is worthy of whatever there may be favora 
 ble in your first impression of her. 
 
 Her accomplishments are of rather a practical 
 sort. She can kill and dress a chicken, make bis 
 cuit and corn bread, spin somewhat and weave a 
 little. She can figure part way through frac 
 tions, read in the fourth reader and spell over 
 to "luminary" in the "old blueback." 
 
 The fact shall not be concealed from you, that 
 Lindy's parents looked upon her high education 
 as unnecessary, and felt that they had performed 
 a work of supererrogation if not a positive wrong 
 in sending her to school so much. There was 
 some excuse for them, to be sure, for the school- 
 house was so near and Lindy liked to go so well 
 that they could hardly find it in their hearts to 
 keep her away, but they had felt no little 
 anxiety as to the result of so liberal an educa 
 tion upon a girl; and their alarm had been in 
 creased this last session by her request for a 
 grammar and a "g'og'ify."
 
 BIG MEETTN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 15. 
 
 "Hit taint right, 'cordin' to my way o' think- 
 in', to be a spendin' sich a heap o' money fur to. 
 buy gals a hull passel o' books 'bout all them 
 ar things as gals haint no call fur to know,' v 
 her father said. "You've got nuff o' books 
 now ef you'll read 'em, fur all the use you'll 
 have fur books. All thisyur education haint na 
 'count fur gals. Better educate 'em fur to be 
 pore men's wives." 
 
 So Lindy's appropriation bill was promptly 
 vetoed. 
 
 The procession that went down the creek 
 halted for a few moments before the post-and- 
 railing in front of 'Lijah Hale's cabin. 
 
 '"All 'light an' go in," said 'Lijah. 'Thaddea, 
 j'ou strip them beastis an' take 'em out an' give 
 'em a couple o' bundles o' fodder V a leetle grain 
 o' corn apiece. Turn Bill 'u' ole Bailey inter the 
 lot, V I reckon you kin stan' that gray with 
 Brother Jinkinses nag. Yer hoss won't kick 
 will he, Brother Jinkins? Fetch them saddles 
 inside whur them calves won't chaw 'em all up. 
 Jes' walk inside. Bill, you all best stop iri, too. 
 Gi' down, Jim, an' stop over. Wall, get along 
 hum then an' git ye a snack. Hit won't be 
 long twill night meetin'. Come in, come in. 
 Jinny, jes you run ter the spring an' fetch a 
 fraish bucket o' water. You'll hev ter take a
 
 16 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 gourd, the one at the spring is broke. Jim 
 fetch us some cheers out hyur. Put yerself 
 level on a cheer, Brother Duncan. Se' down, 
 Brother Albright. Brother Jinkins take a 
 cheer an 1 se' down. Ole woman ! got supper mos' 
 ready? We're gittin' sorter nibbly at the craw. 
 Se' down, gentlemen. The ole woman '11 hev 
 us a snack ready right soon now, I reckon. 
 Hev water? Yes, mighty good water. Haint 
 no better nowhurs, I reckon. Now, Jinny, 
 you run 'long V holp yer maw Lindy 'pears 
 ter be slow 'bout gittin' in."
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 
 
 17 
 
 II. 
 
 Lindy did appear to be slow this evening. 
 She and Tom had lagged a little behind the 
 party, an unusual thing for a mountain couple 
 to do; but Tom "had been a talkin' to Lindy a 
 right smart little bit now," and the affair was 
 considered settled by the No Bus'ness gossips. 
 But it wasn't settled. Both Tom and Lindy 
 considered it as good as settled, and both were 
 anxious to have it settled. The courtship had 
 progressed slowly, though pleasantly. Tom 
 had walked home from meetings with Lindy 
 many times, keeping with the crowd. When 
 they had arrived at the house, Lindy had gone 
 inside with the women, and Tom had sat out 
 side on the porch with the men until it was 
 time for him to leave. In short, it had been an 
 orthodox mountain courtship, with nothing to 
 ruffle the even current of true love, until No 
 Bus'ness was stirred by this big meeting. And 
 Li ndy's mother had disturbed matters a trifle. 
 
 Lindy's mother had no particular objection to 
 this match. Indeed, she favored it; but like 
 many good women, she could not let a court-
 
 18 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 ship work out its own solution without a desire 
 to make her influence felt in some capacity. 
 She had had no hand in making the match, and 
 could not afford to assent to it too readily. She 
 whined often about being left alone, and 
 complained of Lindy's ingratitude and Jinny's 
 inexperience the theme affording an excel 
 lent opportunity to find fault with both 
 girls at once. Lindy paid little attention 
 to these complaints. She understood her 
 mother's natural tendency to "mean Yes and 
 say No." But now her objections assumed a 
 different phase. Lindy had been to the mourn 
 ers' bench in the meetings and was to join the 
 church tomorrow, and her mother felt that she 
 ought to give -her some good advice, and was 
 absolutely unable to give advice for the future 
 without some complaint about the present. 
 Mrs. Hale was a woman who had "seed a heap 
 o' trouble," as she often affirmed with a doleful 
 voice and a significant shake of the head, and 
 she succeeded tolerably well in making others 
 share her troubles with her. 
 
 "Thishyur is a world o' trouble,' 1 she fre 
 quently said, apropos of anything whatever or 
 of nothing at all, as she removed her short pipe 
 and spat into the ashes, "an' they haint no use 
 inyertryin' tergit away from it." And to Mrs.
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS' NESS. 19 
 
 Hale's credit and consistency be it said that she 
 made no effort to escape trouble, but yielded 
 without a struggle to the inevitable, took 
 gratefully all the trouble that came to her, 
 and hunted up all that she could 'find in addi 
 tion. 
 
 She took a morbid delight in it. She al 
 ways visited a sick-bed and kept the details 
 fresh in mind to compare with those of any like 
 occasion, or to reproduce ;it the funeral six 
 months or a year after the death of the patient. 
 She herself had "indigestion of the stumrniek" 
 and "a hurtiu' in her breast" and ll a misery 
 in her back" and a host of other cheerful in 
 firmities whose symptoms she detailed with 
 scrupulous exactness to every listener. It will 
 be readily understood that this estimable lady 
 whined and found fault with the best of inten 
 tions, but not always the best of results. 
 
 "Hit 'pears like ter me, 1 ' she said to Lindy, 
 "as how gals that's been for'ard in meetin' and 
 is gwine to be &a6tized and ter jine the church, 
 hadn't ort to be agadclin 'roun 1 the kentry 'th 
 young fellows as haint got religion/' 
 
 Lindy made no reply but had thought of the 
 same thing; and her mother's words had more 
 effect than was expected or desired. 
 
 "The Bible's mighty plain 'bout all sich as
 
 20 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 that air,' 1 her mother continued, after a pause 
 during which she had been using her apron for 
 a handkerchief, u 'bout bein' oneldlly yoked 
 together 'th them as haint a pullin 1 the way 
 you're agwine. I allers thought ef anybody's 
 agwine ter perfess anything, let 'em live up to 
 it, or not perfess it, one" Having thus spoken, 
 she filled her pipe, scooped it into the ashes for 
 a coal, patted the red ember with her toughened 
 forefinger, and smoked in silence, feeling that 
 she had delivered her own soul and done some 
 thing toward saving Lindy's, but without a 
 thought that Lindy would heed her words. 
 
 Lindy, however, dwelt upoa her mothers 
 speech until she was very unhappy, and in this 
 frame of mind had gone to meeting this Satur 
 day afternoon. The burden was heavier than 
 ever when she started homeward. A song 
 which had been sung this afternoon kept 
 running through her mind; every motion of 
 herself and horse kept time to its rythm 
 
 "The dearest idol I have known, 
 
 Whate'er that idol be, 
 Help me to tear it from thy throne 
 
 And worship only Thee." 
 
 Was Tom an idol? Was he likely to couie 
 between her and God? Her mother's words, 
 her own feelings and the half superstitious in-
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 21 
 
 clination to regard this hymn, snug at a time 
 so appropriate, as a revelation, perplexed her 
 sorely. Another thing, too, had happened. 
 Brother Ab Duncan in his "sarmint" had 
 said: 
 
 kk Ef yer 'spect ter be a Christian yer gotter 
 give up everything that haint Christian. I like 
 ter see religion that's like a ole woman's fat- 
 gourd. The grease is inside, but ye kin see hit 
 a sloppin' all over the surface. Ef you've a 
 takin' to a gal an' a studyin' 'bout amarryin' 
 her, an' she's a trifler, or a fiddler, or a dancer, 
 you've just gotter choose atwix her 'n' God. 
 You haint got no more use for a wife nohow 'n 1 
 a hoss has got fur horns.'' 
 
 Tom was neither a trifler nor a fiddler nor a 
 dancer, but a quiet, sober young man; but he 
 was not a Christian, and brother Duncan's re 
 marks seemed to bear directly on the case in 
 hand. Tandy's duty began to seem plain to her. 
 Only her own wicked heart had kept her from 
 seeing it before. Every thought that her duty 
 might admit of another course was stifled as a 
 suggestion of the tempter, and as evidence of 
 her own wickedness; and with a desperate strug 
 gle, Lindy determined to dethrone her idol. 
 
 Half the short ride home was accomplished 
 before either spoke; then Tom said:
 
 22 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 "So yer goin' ter be ia&tized termoi rer, be ye, 
 L indy ?" And Lindy said "Yes." 
 
 "Be ye goiu' ter jine Albright or Duncan?" 
 Lindy didn't know no difference. 
 
 "I wouldn't jine Duncan,, nohow," said Tom. 
 'Til be dad-burned if I like so much "JUgli-ahl 
 an' aBrother-ahr " which remark tended to con 
 firm Lindy 's decision, for she regarded it as evi 
 dence of Tom's totally unregenerate mind. 
 
 Tom was uneasy. No words concerning mar 
 riage had ever passed between himself and 
 Lindy, yet he had believed the wedding a mat 
 ter near at hand. His affection naturally stuck 
 in his throat and did not manifest itself ill 
 words, yet he loved Lindy with all his big, bash 
 ful heart, and rejoiced in unmistakable evi 
 dence that his affection was reciprocated. Dur 
 ing this meeting he had felt a growing uneasi 
 ness. Lindy had gone early to the mourners' 
 bench, and since had seemed to be slipping^ 
 away from him. Torn desired to be a Christian, 
 but in spite of his training he found more in 
 ^ the meeting to repel than to attract him. He 
 was disgusted with the excesses of the mourners 
 and the senseless howling of the preachers, not 
 withstanding their evident sincerity. ''Looks 
 like hits a mighty pore way to git religion," 
 he said to himself, "but I don't know arv
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 23 
 
 nother." So he had not followed Lindy to the 
 mourners' bench, and had felt a sort of jealousy 
 that Lindy should have gone without him. This 
 afternoon she seemed farther from him than 
 ever, and Tom rashly determined to secure her 
 before she escaped him. The house was in sight 
 before he spoke: 
 
 u Lindy when when er how soon d'ye 
 reckon we best to get married?" 
 
 Lindy hesitated a moment, looked away from 
 Tom and said desperately, "I don't guess we 
 had best to git married a tall." 
 
 Although Tom had felt a sort of premoni 
 tion warning him of his rejection, and some 
 thing within him said, "Just as I expected,'' he 
 was stunned beyond the power of speech. 
 Just as they reached the gate he said, "Lindy, 
 you you don 1 mean that ar?" 
 
 "Don' talk ter me," she replied, "I cain't 
 stan' it," 
 
 "Come in Tom, you an' Lindy," called 'Li jab. 
 from the porch. u jes' hitch yer beastes to the 
 post-an'-railin'. Thad'll cyarry 'em out to the 
 barn, an' you all come in" But Tom, having 
 allowed Lindy to dismount on the stile-blocks, 
 took her horse and his own to the barn. He 
 took a little time to think over his condition, 
 and for the time inclined to a hopeful view.
 
 24 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 "Lindy's a mighty fine gal," be soliloquized, 
 "but she's mighty feisty by spells. Suthin' 'r 
 nuther has got her to feelin' brickety, an' she's 
 just a *devilin' me for a spell. Or mebby now 
 when she's jest got religion she don't want to 
 be pestered till atter the wind up of the meet- 
 in'." 
 
 Having given himself as much comfort as 
 the circumstances permitted, he went to the 
 porch. 
 
 ''Whar be ye gwine fur to hold meetin' at 
 atter the final wind up hyur?" asked Brother 
 Jinkins of Brother Albright. 
 
 "Over on the head waters of Hiwassy," was 
 the reply. 
 
 "Wall, that's agittin' up mighty nigh to whur 
 nothin' empties inter nowhur, haint it? Ole 
 Bill Toosper over on Red Bird uster tell a tale 
 'bout a preacher that went over in thar, an' ee 
 liked flour-bread powerful good, and ee'd hearn 
 tell as how they didn't make none up thar, V 
 ee got 'is ole woman fur ter bake him a hull 
 passel o' biskits, an 1 ee filled his saddle-pockets 
 with 'em. An' wen ee got ter his pintmaint 
 ter whar ee stayed all night at, he tuck him 
 out a biskit, an' one of the leetle fellers thar was 
 sorter watchin' on 'im and seed 'im, an' th' ole 
 
 Devil, as here used, means to tease.
 
 BIG MEETItf' ON NO BUS'NESS. 25 
 
 feller jes' gin 'im a biskit, an 1 the leetle chap he 
 didn't know wut she was. An' ee showed hit 
 to the tother leetle fellers an' they had a power 
 ful big pow-wow fur to fine out wut hit war. 
 An' finally the way hit eended one on 'em tuck 
 the biskit an' laid hit on the haith, an' ee putt 
 a coal on 'er, an' ee sez, sezee, '/ 7 show ye 
 wut 'tis. Hits a tarnjpin; now you watch 'im V 
 you'll see 'im poke 'is laiys out. 1 " 
 
 "Wull, hit must a bin over in thar ole Zeke 
 Sanders went that time w'en he went off 'th the 
 hog-drove that time w'en they axed 'im w'en 
 he come back whar ee'd bin at, an' ee said ee 
 didn't know. "I dunno nuthin' 'bout it,' sezee, 
 'only I know I've bin to whar they call "sop," 
 "gravy? " 
 
 The speaker, laughed loudly at this thread 
 bare tale, as did his audience, most of whom 
 had heard it often before. 
 
 "Wull, did ye see Ole Zeke Sanderses Sam 
 
 ar today? His pap 'n' his uncle Bill is trus 
 tees up in that ar Parch Corn deestrick, an' he's 
 a keepin' the school up on thet ar branch, an' 
 he's bin a buyin' hisself a hull passel o' store 
 clo'es. Did ye see him in that stake-'n'-ridered 
 collar an' them tight britches? I'll be dog- 
 gonned ef he didn't look right comic." 
 
 "Ya-as, haint hit a plum sight wut a heap of
 
 26 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 sich critters a feller kin see, wen he haint got 
 no gun?'' 
 
 This last was from Tom and raised a pro 
 longed laugh. Tom wasted little affection on 
 little Sam Sanders. 
 
 "I've heerd," suggested 'Lijah, "that the 
 Methodis 1 war a cavortin' roun' powerful over 
 on Hiwassy." 
 
 "Who war a tellin 1 ye?" asked Brother Al 
 bright. 
 
 k 'Wy, some one war a sayin' down to the 
 blacksmith shop hit war old Preacher Jake 
 Watts or Tom Jeff Mitchell, one I disremem- 
 ber which now, but pears like hit war ole man 
 Watts, he war there a-gittiii' him some shoes 
 putt on his nag, an' hit war him or Tom Jeff, 
 o'ne. A.n' they war a sayin' that a feller by the 
 name o' Hill was a takin' a powerful through 
 an' had a hull house-full a shoutin' to wunct." 
 
 "I haint never heerd tell o' no sich preacher," 
 said Brother Albright. 
 
 k 'He haint no preacher." said Duncan. "He 
 haint never been ordained. The presidin' elder 
 over on the Pore Fork conference gin 'im some 
 license fur to exercise in public. I met him 
 wunct wen I had a 'pintmaint on Smoky fur 
 the third Saturday an' Sunday an' he had a 
 'pintmaint fur the fourth, an' they rule by the
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS' NESS. 27 
 
 Sundays stidder the Saturdays, an' the month 
 come in of a Sunday an' so we conflicted. An' 
 he wanted fur to divide the time, but sez I, 
 'We'll leave er to the congregation,' sez I, an' 
 they voted fur to hear him, kase he was sorter 
 new in the kentry. One feller sez, sezee, 'A new 
 broom sweeps clean.' 'Yes,' sez I, 'but that- 
 taint wut ails you' sez I, 'the ole un knows loo 
 well whar the dirt is,' sez I. 'An' so he preached 
 he didn't preach none, but he tried an' I 
 stayed fur ter hear him, an' he called on me fur 
 ter pray. An' sez I, Til pray in my own meet- 
 in's. You go on with yer own sherackety,' 
 sez I." 
 
 The conversation dropped for a while; then 
 old 'Lijah remarked, "We had a right good 
 meetin' this evenin'," but before any reply was 
 made, and while Brother Duncan was leaning 
 forward in his chair and puckering his lips pre 
 paratory to ejecting a mouthful of tobacco-juice 
 beyond the edge of the porch, after which he 
 probably would have spoken, supper was an 
 nounced, and further conversation postponed. 
 The men adjourned to supper, the women all 
 waiting until the second table. 
 
 "Make a beginnin', Brother Albright," Said 
 'Lijah, and Brother Albright returned thanks. 
 
 Then the biscuit was passed, and the chic.ken,
 
 ^8 THE WINE-UP OF THE 
 
 and the bacon and the corn pones, the tops of 
 which bore three well-defined ridges corres 
 ponding to the depressions between Mrs. Bale's 
 fingers. Strong coffee was served, flavored with 
 u long-sweetimn' ". The latter, having been 
 passed, was set too close to Benny, who reached 
 it and began to lick off what was draining down 
 the outside of the tin cup. 
 
 "Benny!" called his mother, "you quit lickin' 
 off them molasses! Lookee hyur! ei' you don' 
 behave an' ac' right you'll hev tergo way from 
 the table! Hev milk, Brother Jmkins, sweet 
 milk ur buttermilk? Jinny, pour some but 
 termilk. He don't like to wait, Benny don't. 
 He alers stan's thar right aside of his pap's 
 cheer. He's a mighty feller fur his pap, Benny 
 is." 
 
 Mrs. Hale was rather proud than otherwise 
 of Benny's method of helping himself, inas 
 much as the offense combined with her rebuke 
 attracted general attention to him. Benny un 
 derstood it and smiled sweetly, licking from his 
 lips the molasses he had not succeeded in swal 
 lowing, and listening to the comments that fol 
 lowed. 
 
 "He's a mighty peart boy," said Brother 
 Duncan. 
 
 "He's a mighty bad un," said his mother.
 
 em MEETIN' otf NO BUS'NESS. 2ft 
 
 "He will come to the table an' stan' aside of his 
 pap; an he don' know how ter ac', 'pears like. 
 He's alers bin a mighty pappy-boy. Hev pie, 
 Brother Duncan? Lindy, han' thet pie." 
 
 Lindy laid down her paw-paw fly brush and 
 passed the "high pie," composed of alternate 
 layers of biscuit dough, and apple sauce cooked 
 in grease. The pie was freely partaken of, and 
 the meal was finished in silence. Each man, as 
 he finished, rose from the table and returned to 
 the porch, seizing the opportunity as he 
 stooped to pass through the low door into the 
 u other house," to draw the back of his hand 
 across his mouth; his hand and mouth being 
 nearer together at that moment than usual, the 
 act was performed with the minimum expendi 
 ture of labor. 
 
 "We had a right good meetin'," said 'Lijah^ 
 taking up the conversation where it had been 
 dropped. 
 
 "Yas, hit was a powerful good meetin'," said 
 Brother Duncan. 
 
 "Bill Smith come fbr'ard," said Brother 
 Jinkins. u D'ye reckon he'll hold out?" 
 
 "I dunno," said Brother Duncan. "He tuck 
 it too easy. Now, Joe Bates, he jes' go' downl 
 an' rolled on the floor an' yelled fur mercy, an 
 wan't noways p'tic'lar how much dirt they war
 
 30 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 whar he rolled. Thet looked more like bus'- 
 ness." 
 
 "Tom, hits 'bout time for you to make a 
 break, hain't it?" asked 'Li j ah. 
 
 U I reckon 'tis," said Tom, "but 'pears like I 
 isn't ready." 
 
 "You had best ter git ready," said Brother 
 Albright. "Ef you'd a started at the fust, you 
 mought a been out by this time." 
 
 Tom made no reply, and Brother Duncan at 
 tempted to clinch the matter by asking as he 
 whittled a chew from a twist of home made to 
 bacco with a large Barlow knife, "D'ye want 
 to go down to thet pit that we tole the people 
 about this evenin'?" And again Tom was si 
 lent. 
 
 Pipes were produced, and each man, after 
 filling, entered the kitchen for a coal and 
 returned to the porch for a smoke. The sun 
 was almost down, and the moon was rising over 
 the point at the bend of the creek. Soon they 
 knocked the ashes frow their pipes, and started 
 for night meeting, all on foot but Tom, who 
 was not to return, it being thought easier by 
 the others to walk than to put out the horses 
 on their late return. Lindy and her mother 
 and Jinny stayed at home, the girls to do up 
 the work and their mother to guard her health.
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON xo BUS'XESS. 31 
 
 U I caint never go out none of a night,'' the 
 latter said, "hit jest sets my bones ter achin' 
 the wust way in the world. I've alers bin a 
 mighty hand to go to church an' ter meetins' 
 an' funerals. Thet's the way I war raised. 
 Jist atter the war I went to onemeetiu' over on 
 Gum Fork, day an' night fur three weeks, han' 
 runnin'. Ole Brother Jim Perkins preached, 
 an' babtized over forty in Skull Bone, whar hit 
 empties inter the Gum Fork. He died eight 
 year from the next spring. He had the 
 phthisic mighty bad. I've heered him preach 
 when hit 'peared like he couldn't git no breath; 
 fust preach a spell, then wheeze a spell, then 
 preach a spell 'n' then wheeze a spell, twill 
 he got sorter warmed through, an' then 
 laws a massy! how he cud preach! 'Reared 
 lack the shingles 'ud fly orfum the roof. But 
 sence the time I had the fever seven year ago 
 fodder-pullin' time, an' ole Doctor Sam Perry 
 gin me so much calomile an' salivated me, I've 
 bin just ruined fur goin' out of a night. I tell 
 ye, I like these yer yarb doctors them's my 
 doctors. Wy, Doctor Bill Skinner, from the 
 head o' Smoky, he gin Sally Ann Bailey 
 calomile, an' I seed him when he done it, too, 
 an' I thought he war a givin' her too much; but 
 I never said nothin', and he gin that girl calo-
 
 32 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 mile she was just a turnin' sixteen, an' had 
 the dipt/levy an' he gin her " 
 
 How long Mrs. Hale wo'uld have continued, 
 no man knows, but at this point her hearers 
 started for night meeting, and her story closed 
 abruptly. 
 
 Off the procession started, the preachers with 
 their saddle-bags, 'Lijah with a little brass 
 lamp, and Tom, in spite of the comfort he tried 
 to force upon himself, with a heavy heart.
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS' NESS. 33 
 
 III. 
 
 The dishes were washed, the preparations for 
 morning completed, and Lindy went to bed. 
 The beds, six in number, were in two rooms, 
 partially separated by the large double chim 
 ney. The space on one side was open; on the 
 other it was closed by a partition, and a ladder 
 stood there, by means of which the smaller chil 
 dren ascended to bed in the loft; for there they 
 were to sleep to-night, to make room below for 
 the guests. Lindy did not find it easy to get to 
 sleep. She thought of Tom. What would he 
 do now? Had she done right? If not, what 
 ought she to have done? These and like ques 
 tions troubled her as she lay awake and thought. 
 She tried to think of other things of the 
 meeting to-morrow, what she should say when 
 asked to tell her experience, whether she would 
 * choke in the water, whether Tom would be 
 there and then she was back again in the old 
 train of thought. 
 
 Then she tried to think of the meeting to 
 night. She could picture it to herself the 
 low pole rafters half revealed by the light^ of
 
 34; THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 two or three smoking brass lamps, the audience 
 leaning forward with elbows on their knees, 
 the dogs lying in the aisle until disturbed by 
 some later comers and then changing their po 
 sition to the open space before the rough slab 
 pulpit. She could imagine it all; she could al 
 most see and hear Brother Hopkins as he rose 
 to announce the opening hymn. Brother Hop 
 kins usually did this, for he was not regarded as 
 a very able preacher, and this was an easy way 
 to make him feel that he had been honored 
 with a part in the service. He always produced 
 an antiquated hymn-book and invariably lined 
 the same hymn. Lindy imagined she could 
 hear the alternate lining and singing: 
 
 "Death has been hijur and bore away 
 A sister from eour side, 
 
 "Sung to the use of common maisure. All 
 
 sing:" 
 
 H ' -0- 
 
 N-ii-u-ng Deuth has ben Lyur ran uore ra- 
 
 . k >j - 
 
 ~~ ~ 
 
 sis - ter from eour side !
 
 BIG MEETIN' ox NO BUS'NESS. 35 
 
 "Jest in the morning of Vr day 
 As young as we she died." 
 
 And Lindy could hear the shuffling of feet 
 which accompanied the rising of the congrega 
 tion, and the voices singing 
 
 :v * ' -jM 1 
 
 N - ng Jest in the 
 
 / m _ 
 
 - y 
 of her day, myAs young as we she died. 
 
 u Not long ago she filled her place 
 And sot with us chew larn." 
 
 Thus Lindy followed it through its multitude 
 of stanzas and repeated the last two lines of the 
 last stanza. Then the doleful minor strain ad 
 justed itself to other words, and they started an 
 interminable running through her mind: 
 
 "The dearest idol I have known, 
 Whatever that idol be!" 
 
 And she mentally lined the remainder of the 
 stanza and sang that, and then took up a con 
 tinual Da Capo. She tossed so uneasily on her 
 straw bed that Jinny found it difficult to sleep., 
 and said:
 
 36 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 "Wist you cud lay still. 'Pears lack you 
 squirm 'n' twist 'n' wiggle lack er flea on a hot 
 shovel. I caint git to sleep nary wink." 
 
 Lindy was still awake when the folks re 
 turned from meeting. Old Shep's bark and the 
 terrific uproar of the feist* announced their 
 coining. Both dogs met the company at the 
 gate, making a terrible ado to convince their 
 master that were he any one else they would 
 eat him. The two lank hounds, however, after 
 as noisy a bark as either of their companions, 
 returned to the porch, and quietly slipped with 
 the company into the house. 
 
 "Come in all," said old 'Lijah. "Rest your 
 hats on that ar table. Take cheers an' se' 
 down. Jes' pull up that bainch ef they haint 
 cheers 'nuff. I'll hev ter cut a fo' stick an' 
 see ef we caint recruit the far a leetle. Hyur, 
 Thaddea! Thad! Them boys! Keeps dogs fur 
 coon pnrpisis! Git eout o' hyur, you triflin', 
 no 'count critters! Thad, you keep them dawgs 
 o' yourn eout of thishurchimbly corner. They 
 haint room fur folks ter set. Fetch us in a fo' 
 stick hyur an' some o' that ar pine. A far feels 
 mighty good thesyer cold nights. Shet that ar 
 door. Wile we're hot we'll try ter keep hot." 
 
 FEIST, a little dog. Sometimes spelled "flee." But it is always 
 pronounced with a final ''t."
 
 BIG MEETIX' 0> T 'NO BUS'XESS. 37 
 
 Thad brought the fore-stick, and calling the 
 hounds, started on a coon-hunt with some of the 
 boys from up the creek. The fire soon began 
 to burn brightly, and helped to consume the 
 oxygen of the apartment. In most of the 
 houses on No Bus'ness. ventilation was better 
 provided for than almost any other necessity or 
 convenience, but 'Lijah Hale's was thoroughly 
 clinked and daubed, and there were no windows. 
 A breath of outside air would have been a 
 luxury to any lungs unused to such experience; 
 but the company could have slept equally well 
 with the wind blowing onto them through a 
 six inch crack, or in an air-tight box with a 
 whole family and a hot fire. The air in the 
 Hale mansion must have been well de-oxydized 
 by the time each occupant of the six beds 
 some fifteen persons had inhaled it, and the 
 fire had burned it for a few consecutive hours; 
 but the Hale family and their guests slept the 
 sleep of the just and lived through the night as 
 usual. 
 
 Next morning, breakfast was eaten and prep 
 arations for meeting were slowly made. A full 
 hour before meeting time the families from up 
 the creek came by and stopped before the post- 
 and-railing, with 
 
 "Hello!" 
 
 447936
 
 38 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 "Howdy!" called 'Lijah. "Come in. Gi' down, 
 Jim. Come jn, all of you." 
 
 "No, we aint got time, I reckon." 
 [ "0 you've got time a plenty. Come in." 
 
 "No, I reckon we best keep a stirriu'. Gwine 
 ter meetin'?" 
 
 "Yes, we're agwine up thoreckly. Come in, 
 we'll be ready right soon now." 
 
 lk Wull I dunno. Hev yer got any fraish 
 water up?" 
 
 "Yes, come in. Hyar, Thad! You run 
 Thaddea! Whur's Thad at? Hyur, Jinny, 
 you run an' get a fraish bucket o' water right 
 quick. Gi' down V come in 'n' we'll go long 
 up thoreckly." 
 
 This dialogue, with some variations, had been 
 repeated at each house since the little procession 
 had started down the creek, receiving like a 
 snowball, continual accretions as it descended. 
 Jinny came with the water, of which all par 
 took, and in a short time the preparations, 
 quickened by the arrival of the folks from up 
 the creek, were completed; and the procession 
 started with its final additions. 
 
 Little Johnny Hopkins walked with Lindy 
 and told her about the last night's meeting. 
 Johnny was the eon of Brother Hopkins, who 
 usually opened the meetings. He said:
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 39 
 
 "Did you ever hyur my pap pray? Wen my 
 pap prays he prays. Ab Duncan caint preach ! 
 Las' night wen we got home, my pap sez, 
 ''Less pray /' an' we all go' down on our knees 
 an' the house jes shuck!" 
 
 Liiidy inferred from this, that Brother Hop 
 kins desired promotion, and that his prayer at 
 home last night had been a sort of private re 
 hearsal for the more conspicuous part he ex 
 pected to take in today's services. 
 
 Soon, they came to the church-house, outside 
 which the people were gathered in homogeneous 
 knots. Lindy soon found the group of girls of 
 her own age, and together they started for the 
 spring. On the way back they met some young 
 men, among them Tom; but Tom looked the 
 other way, and Liudy felt guilty. 
 
 Tom had ridden after last night's meeting to 
 his home k 'on the divide atwixt Troublesome 
 and Dif/Yculty. 1 " As soon as he was alone, the 
 little hope he had clung to forsook him. It 
 was not a mere freak on Lindy 's part. Her an 
 nouncement to him was the result of a positive 
 decision, and he well knew that the little miss 
 had a will so strong that some thought her 
 stubborn. No, it was settled. But why had 
 she refused him? A sudden thought struck 
 him Sam Sanders.
 
 40 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 ''Hits that trifling leetle feist," he said to 
 himself savagely. "I knowed he war a sorter 
 hangin' round her, but I didn't think she war 
 sech a fool as ter want hmi. I s'pose hits sor 
 ter nateral fur a gal to lack nice clo'es, but . 
 Wul, I dunno as I ort to blame 'er. No, I haint 
 got nothin 1 to say agin Lindy. Ef she wants 
 Sam Sanders, she kin hev him, I haint a keerin'. 
 She mought better keep a honest heart nor to 
 sling hit away fur a stake-'n'-ridered collar. 
 Wul! A gal that'll talk to a feller as long as 
 she's ben a talkin' to me, an' then slight him 
 fur a leetle, triflin', no 'count critter like him, 
 I'll be dog-take-my-cats ef I want her!" 
 
 So Tom said to himself, but he never knew 
 how much he loved Lindy until that moment. 
 No matter how strenuously the fox asserts his 
 belief in the acidity of the grapes, his desire for 
 them varies as the square r^of of their distance 
 beyond his reach. 
 
 The conjecture that Sam Sanders was his 
 favored rival, grew more and more certain in 
 Tom's mind, until before morning he had re 
 called a dozen trivial events which had not for 
 a moment excited his suspicion at the time they 
 occurred; but any one of which would have been' 
 enough, in his present state of mind, to con 
 vince him.
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 41 
 
 "Trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmation 
 
 strong-, 
 As proof ot holy writ. " 
 
 But one thing was settled. He would not 
 stay there to see Lindy married to Sam Sanders. 
 He would leave No Bus'ness. He had been 
 brought up on the little farm on top of the 
 ridge and had never been twenty miles from it. 
 
 "The craps is done made," he said to himself, 
 *'an' pap kin git along 'thout me. He'll hatter 
 do it sometime. Jes' soon as they comes a 
 fraish in the creek, Dan Walker '11 be a wantin' 
 fur ter float them raftis o' warnut logs down to 
 the river, an' him 'n' me's good friends. I kin 
 git a job ter go 'long down on one on 'em. The 
 moon's mighty nigh full, an' hits a wet moon. 
 They'll be a rain right soon, an' then 'Good bye 
 No Bus'ness.' Theys a heap o' ways to git 
 'long when a feller gits eoufc inter the world." 
 
 This decision he reached before he slept. In 
 the morning he started back to the church- 
 house, drawn by a desire to see Lindy for the 
 last time. Besides, Dan Walker would be at the 
 meeting. 
 
 He found Dan as he had expected, early on 
 the ground and easily made the desired arrange 
 ment. 
 
 "1 reckon hits agwine to rain right soon,"
 
 42 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 said Dan. "The wind is south-east, an' ole 
 Rockyface war a roarin' powerful this mornin'. 
 I look for fallin' weather tonight or termorrer, 
 one. Soon's hit begins, we'll git down, an' be 
 ready to shove out with the fraish." 
 
 Then they were joined by others and walked 
 to the spring, passing Lindy on the way. Al 
 though Tom resolutely looked the other way, 
 his heart beat very fast. 
 
 Soon they heard Brother Albright inside, 
 singing in stentorian tones, "Babylon is Fallen," 
 and this signal church bell and organ volun 
 tary combined caused the house to be filled. 
 
 Some delay followed, for the crowd was too 
 large for the house. The benches were moved 
 out and more were extemporized from blocks 
 and stones with fence rails laid across, and 
 meeting began in earnest.
 
 BIG MEETIN* ON NO BUS'NESS. 43 
 
 IV- 
 
 Brother Hopkins did not line the opening 
 hymn this morning. Brother Simmons from 
 "way up eouten Bell" did that. He prefaced as 
 follows: 
 
 "My dear brethering an' friens, an' dyin' 
 congregation, we hev met hyur in this place 
 today on thisher leetle rise o' ground, fur the 
 purpis, ef eour hearts deceive us not, of Divine 
 wuship. Awhilst amany of eour feller beins-ah ! 
 as good as us by nater an' fai-ai-air better by 
 practice-ah ! has Qo\ti-stripped us in the narrer 
 la-ane o' life-ah! an' gone to people the pa-a-ale 
 nashins o' the dead-ah! A.n' hit air meet upon 
 this solemn occasion-ah ! thet we shud dro-or in 
 the worndrins of eour miti's-ah! from yearth< 
 an' the perishin' things of y earth -ha! an' fix 
 um upon heaving, an' immortal glory-ah! To 
 wich eend we invite you, my friendly congre 
 gation, to sing the beautiful hyrne: 
 
 "Amazin' grace heow sweet the seoun' 
 Thet saved a wretch lack me. 
 
 Sung to the use of common maisure. Thank
 
 44 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 some brother to pitch an' kerry the chune, an' 
 all the brethering jine in." 
 
 K -n-n-ng. A - maz - ing grace 1 Heow sweet the 
 
 I! 
 
 seoun' nThat saved 
 
 "/ ivunct ivas lost but neow I'm found, 
 Was blind but neow I see." 
 
 K-n-nl wuiift \\;is lo-o-o-ost but neow I'm 
 
 f 1*011:1' dWas blind but neow I see. 
 
 All sang the air except one or two young 
 men, who having learned "to bass," dragged 
 out one long tonic, changing once in each coup 
 let at just the wrong place to a discordant 
 dominant; and one old woman, with a voice 
 like a cracked fife, who squeaked out some 
 thing like a tenor. 
 
 After the "hynie," Brother Hopkins offered 
 prayer, with such effect that one might readily
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 45 
 
 believe Johnny's statement that "the house jes' 
 shuck." After shouting himself hoarse, he be 
 gan to draw to a close with the timely re 
 mark 
 
 "An' neow, Lord! as we're not to be 
 heerd fur eour much, long or loud speakin'-ah," 
 when his voice sank from a shout to a whisper, 
 in which tone the prayer was finished. 
 
 Lindy heard little of the prayer. She knew 
 the latter part of it by heart. She was accus 
 tomed to hear prayers which ended in almost 
 the same words, with the same variations of 
 pitch, stress and inflection, and with the drop 
 from the fortissimo to the inaudible on exactly 
 the same word. The tune of "Amazing grace" 
 was running through her mind, and she heard 
 Brother Simmons alternately lining and sing 
 ing 
 
 "The dearest idol I have known, 
 Whnte'er that idol be." 
 
 But after the prayer, came another hymn 
 which helped her somewhat, for it was not 
 "sung to the use of common maisure;" and it 
 set to rest for a time the jingle in her brain. 
 
 "0 sisters, aint you happy, aint you happy in the Lord? 
 
 Shout glory*, hally, hallyloo! 
 "Yes, ef ever I was happy, I'm happy in the Lord, 
 
 Shout glory, hally, hallyloo!"
 
 46 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 Refrain : 
 
 "0 religion is a fortyin and heaving is a home, 
 
 Shout glory, hally, hallyloo! 
 Wfcen we all git to heaving we'll shout together there, 
 
 Shout glory, hally, hallyloo!" 
 
 Lindy tried to sing, but could not. She was 
 not happy. She wondered if the "sisters" were. 
 With a vague feeling of unrest she sat with 
 her head down, trying not to think. 
 
 And now Brother Ab Duncan rose to speak, 
 and cast his eyes over his congregation. An 
 interesting one it certainly was. There sat the 
 brethren in rough homespun, some with coats, 
 but more without, with elbows on their knees. 
 Their eyes were sometimes raised to look at the 
 speaker or to gaze behind them the latter 
 effort being accompanied by a falling of the 
 lower jaw but generally fixed listlessly on the 
 puddle of tobacco-juice between their feet. 
 
 There were the women in their linsey-woolsey 
 dresses. Some were using the turkey wings 
 with which they had come provided ; for, while 
 the nights are cool even in summer, the days 
 are warm in late autumn on No Bus'ness. To 
 day was especially so, and those women who 
 had no turkej r -wings, bent their paw-paw riding 
 whips double, and stretched their red necker 
 chiefs over them for fans. And some fanned
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 47 
 
 rapidly, with a quick, nervous motion, and 
 others staid, stout matrons gently flapped 
 their fans against their bosoms, and looked up 
 ward, at an angle of forty-five degrees. Some 
 took off their sunbonnets and laid them across 
 their laps, and these invariably exposed a twist 
 of hair with the end protruding at a tangent; 
 for hair-pins are unknown on No Bus'ness, and 
 there is a limit to the ability of the back comb. 
 
 Many of the women, as well as men, used to 
 bacco. Conspicuous among them were two 
 girls, who sat well forward and evidently 
 thought themselves leading the singing. While 
 the song, U sisters aint you happy," was sing 
 ing, they removed their snuff sticks, and gave 
 the song their exclusive attention. But they 
 had to expectorate once a stanza, and feeling 
 that both must not stop at once, they alternated; 
 the taller one taking her intermission at the 
 end of the stanza, the shorter one at the end of 
 the refrain. And the tall one was an adept at 
 the business. She shot her mouthfuls of dis 
 colored saliva from the end of her tongue with 
 wonderful precision of aim, striking with each 
 discharge, a bench leg diagonally across the 
 aisle, where it drained down, making a puddle 
 of more than medium size. 
 
 But Brother Duncan is beginning to preach.
 
 48 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 There he stands, a rather heavy set man, with 
 a face like a pugilist and a voice like a young 
 lion. His text is, "Seek ye first the Kingdom 
 of God and his righteousness," but his sermon 
 would apply equally well to any other passage 
 of Scripture. He begins with a long-winded 
 prelude concerning himself. 
 
 k 'My brethering, I thank God that my jeens 
 coat haint never breshed the dust orfum nary 
 college wall. All the trainin' I've got fur ter 
 be a preacher, God gin me. An 1 wen God trains 
 a man fur ter preach, he makes him a preacher 
 right. An' I'm as morril a man as ever you 
 seed, I reckon. An' nobody over whar I live 
 on Lynn Camp won't go afore the court an' 
 swear as ever he seed Ab Duncan so drunk but 
 wot he cud get home." 
 
 Then he goes to the twelfth chapter of Rev 
 elation and talks about the woman astannin' on 
 the moon-ah! then begins at the creation and 
 takes in with a tremendous sweep, the fall of 
 man, the exodus, the birth of Christ, and the 
 conversion of Saul. Then he returns to the 
 Apocalypse and the woman, with much repeti 
 tion and increased lung power. His face 
 streams with perspiration, and his tone is a ver 
 itable bray; hardly a word of what he says be 
 ing understood. As he approaches his perora-
 
 BIG MEETTN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 49 
 
 tion, he holds out his gorilla face, with eyes 
 blood-shot and every pore dripping, and while 
 proceeding to wipe it with his red handkerchief , 
 says : 
 
 "Jes' look at my face! Do you 'spose I 
 could look this away ef I warnt a Christain? 
 Oh! ef thishyur aint religion I dunno wut 
 'tis!" 
 
 He concludes \vith a graphic picture of the 
 Day of Judgment, having not once directly or 
 indirectly alluded to his text. 
 
 Space will not permit the insertion of the 
 profound discourses of Brethren Hopkins, Sim 
 mons, Albright and the others, all of whom 
 preached. Brother Jones, of Laurel County, 
 laid on the cap sheaf, or as he expressed it, 
 "laid up the top rails." 
 
 "I mos' giner'ly alers notice,' r he began, "wen 
 they's a big nieetin' an' I'm thar, they mos' 
 giner'ly alers calls on me last I may say fur 
 to lay up the top rails. An' I alers see them 
 that's been scattered round in the woods comes 
 up comes nearer ter hear me. Neow, I'm 
 agwine fur ter be brief on this occasion, fur 
 the congregation has been right smartly wor 
 ried a'ready. An' you'll fine my tex Hole 
 on ! I caint never preach 'th my coat on." 
 
 Off came his coat, and as he warmed to the
 
 50 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 subject he slipped his knit suspenders (attached 
 to his trousers by little hickory sticks in lieu of 
 buttons) from off his shoulders, rolled up his 
 sleeves, unbuttoned his shirt at the neck, ex 
 posing his hairy chest, held his left hand on. 
 his ear, and gesticulated wildly with his right r 
 raced up and down like a chained maniac, spit 
 ting right and left, and singing his incoherent 
 sentences in a tone of thunder. The only in 
 telligible portion of a sentence in the latter part 
 of it was that he "would rather be a pine-knot 
 in hell 1 ' than something. And then he called 
 for a song and invited those who so desired to 
 come forward to the mourners' bench; and 
 while they sang, he exhorted and threatened 
 and bellowed .in a tone audible above the voices 
 of the whole congregation. Then followed a 
 prayer for the mourners, during which some of 
 the latter "got the power," and then Brother 
 Albright opened the doors of the church. 
 
 "An' neow awhilst we sing, all them as wants 
 ter jine the ole Hardshell Babtist Church, come 
 for'ard. Give me yer hand an 1 the Lord yer 
 heart an' take yer seat on thishyur front 
 bainch." 
 
 Tom stood and watched the candidates so 
 
 c3 
 
 forward, Lindy among them. Just as the last 
 stanza was finished, to the surprise of the whole
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS. - 51 
 
 congregation and himself, Tom walked up the 
 aisle, took his seat on the end of the bench, and 
 buried his face in his hands. 
 
 He had not fully considered this step or he 
 would not have taken it. He had alwa}*s in 
 tended in an indefinite sort of way to be a 
 Christian sometime, but was totally in the dark 
 as to what constitutes a Christian life. Since 
 last night he had experienced an unusual feel 
 ing, which had grown upon him with his plan 
 to leave home an all-alone feeling, and he 
 wanted a Friend. Everything was dark about 
 him when the sudden impulse seized him to 
 take a step with the others; and his blind step 
 was toward the sun-rise. Perhaps it was only 
 an impulse; perhaps it was the Divine Spirit. 
 But it was more than the instantaneous flash of 
 a sudden desire; it was the firing of his whole 
 being, which had long, unknown to him, been 
 ready for the spark of a crisis to kindle within 
 him the flame of a right decision. 
 
 The candidates proceeded to give th( x 
 perience. Most of them had had a hard strug 
 gle before they had "got through," and some 
 were positive that they never could have suc 
 ceeded but for the appearance of some dream 
 or vision. One old woman had seen the devil. 
 
 "Wunct he come to me in the shape of a
 
 52 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 yalligator, an 1 wunct he come to me in the 
 shape of the shadow of a big yaller dog. 'N' I 
 tole him 'Go way! Yer caint hev mef An' 
 then I jes' made up my icind I'd pray I" 1 
 
 "Mighty wise resolution, sister," interrupted 
 Brother Albright. 
 
 "An' so I prayed an' prayed twell I got 
 through, an' now I wouldn't take nothin' for 
 the hope IVe got. Oh! I wouldn't swap hit fur 
 ten thousand sech worlds as thishyur." 
 
 Old Samson Walsh and his wife were re 
 ceived. Their experiences were somewhat 
 alike. Mrs. Walsh 
 
 " War a wash in' dishis in the porch, an' they 
 come a leetle bird an' sot on a hollyhock bush 
 in the'yaird V sung: ^Lucee-ee thy sins V for 
 given thee-ee' 'N' then it flew up ter heaving 
 asingin', ^ Luc ee-eef oiler me-e-e!." 1 " 
 
 And old Samson said: "Wull, I went out to 
 the backer house an' went ter strippin' backer. 
 'N' I got ter thinkin' 'bout my speritool condi 
 tion, V 'twas mighty bad. 'N' they come a 
 leetle bird an' sot on a stalk o' backer an' sez, 
 sez she, 'Samson, thy sins air forgiven thee,' " 
 and noticing an incredulous grin on the faces 
 of some of the young men, he added with more 
 earnestness than piety: kk 'N' b' golly, I be 
 lieve hits so!"
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS' K ESS. 53 
 
 Lincly's experience was very brief and low. 
 She had alers wanted to be a Christian, 'an 
 now she b'lieved she was one, an' she hoped 
 they'd all pra}' for her that she might be a bet 
 ter one. Some questions were asked her to 
 which she answered "Yes, sir," without any 
 very definite understanding of their meaning. 
 
 Old Jim Hanson had had a heap o' dreams, V 
 he'd tole 'em to a heap o' preachers, V they'd 
 tole him them was jest as purty dreams as any 
 parson ever had, 'n' that he had ort to jine the 
 church, An' he'd studied a heap about it, 'n' 
 concluded he war agittin 1 old an' warn't stout 
 nohow an' mought die anytime amost, an' he 
 reckoned mebby he'd best jine. 
 
 All this ti me Tom sat appalled at his rash act. 
 He really wished himself back again. 
 
 "But hits too late ter crawfish on 'er now," 
 he thought. "I've got hit ter do." 
 
 When asked for his experience he replied: 
 
 "I haint got none." 
 
 - u But, brother," remonstrated Brother Al 
 bright, "whut did ye come for'ard fur ef yer 
 haint got no experunce?" 
 
 U I dunno. To git a experunce, I reckon." 
 
 "You had orter a stayed out twill you got 
 it," said Brother Duncan. 
 
 "I've bin a stay in out a right smart while
 
 54 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 an' haint no nearder a gittin' a experunce nor 
 I was afore, 1 ' said Tom, his power of speech re 
 turning as his combativeness was aroused by 
 this unexpected opposition. 
 
 "Well, brother," said Brother Albright, 
 ''then s'posV ye jes sorter tell us how ye feel." 
 
 "Well," said Tom rising, "I didn't really ex- 
 pec' ter come for'ard, 'n' I dunno wy I did; ony 
 jes I wanter be a Christian an' I didn't know 
 what else ter do. The Bible sez ter make 
 straight in the wilderness the way of the Lord, 
 but 'pears to me like the way you fellers blaze 
 out is a powerful crooked un. I caint git inter 
 hit, 'pears like. The Bible sez, 'Blessed air 
 them as hungers an' thirstis atter righteous 
 ness 'n' they shall be filled.' I've ben a comin' 
 hyur tolable reg'lar an' I'm a hungerin'. The 
 Bible sez fur you ter 'Feed my sheep,' 'n' I 
 reckon I'm the ninety-ninth un as stayed away. 
 But you don't do it. You fellers jes' tole me 
 along through the woods, a makin' a powerful 
 big noise a rattlin' the corn in the maisure, but 
 only a shellin' me off now and then a grain, an' 
 never givin' me nary decent bite. An' I'm 
 mighty nigh a starvin'. I've been a studyin' 
 'bout it off an' on fur a right smart spell, 'n' 
 p'tic'lar since yistidy. I hadn't no notion o' 
 comin' for'ard, but when the rest come, 'peared
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 55 
 
 like I wanted to too, fur I want to be a Chris 
 tian as bad as any of 'em, an' need it, I reckon, 
 a heap wuss 'n' ary one on 'em. An' I was a 
 stannin' thar, 'n' they come a feelin' sorter sud- 
 dent like that rnebby ef I'd come this fur, I cud 
 see the way round ter the next bend in the 
 road, 'n' I jes' come. An' I'm willin' ter be bab- 
 tized er ter jine I haint a keerin' now wut ye 
 do with me, but I wanter know wut 'tis fur to 
 be a Christian, 'n' I want ter be it." 
 
 Tom sat down breathless, and again covered 
 his face. A pause followed his speech, so elo 
 quent in its desperation and sudden earnestness. 
 Brother Duncan was not altogether satisfied 
 with Tom's experience. 
 
 "Tworn't speritool miff," he said half aloud. 
 "Hit don 1 do no good fur to babtize a feller as 
 haint bin changed. We haint no Campbellites. 
 Water don' change a feller; ony jes' yer put 
 him down a dry devil an' fotch him up a wet 
 devil." 
 
 After a moment Brother Albright rose, blew 
 his nose, and said: 
 
 "Wull, I haint sure but they's some words o' 
 truth in wut the brother's bin a sayin'. We've 
 bin a try in' fur ter eed him on the Bread o 1 
 Lite, but 'pears like he haint got nuthin 1 but 
 huskis. I dunno's I orter babtize ye, Brother
 
 56 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 Baker, but I'll resk it. The Bible sez, 'Him 
 thet's weak in the faith receive ye,' so I reckon 
 I'll resk it. An' neow, less have 'nother hyme, 
 an' awhilst we sing, we want the prayin' part 
 of this congregation to come for'ard an' extend 
 the right hand o' congratulation to those new 
 members." 
 
 Then they sang, "I am 'bound for the prom 
 ised laud," and the whole congregation shook 
 hands with the new members and the preachers 
 and each other, and the meeting adjourned to 
 the creek. Down the narrow road the congre 
 gation crowded, many rushing along paths and 
 through nigh-c\its to secure favorable positions. 
 Part of the way Tom walked with Lindy, but 
 they exchanged only a word or two. But how 
 happy Lindy felt, that the barrier between Tom 
 and herself was down. 
 
 Old Mrs. Walsh was first baptized. She 
 shouted in the water, and as she came up, broke 
 from Brother Albright and rushed to the" bank, 
 where two or three old sist-ers met aud em 
 braced her. When old Samson was baptized, 
 she rushed into the water to meet him, splash 
 ing, struggling, hugging him affectionately and 
 shouting vociferously. Others delivered little 
 speeches, carefully prepared for the occasion, in 
 a manner intended to appear extemporaneous.
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS 57 
 
 When it was over, Brother Albright came to 
 the water's edge and standing ankle deep in the 
 stream, called for appointments. Brother Dun 
 can announced the meeting in the Seed -Tick 
 school-house on the head waters of Hiwassy; 
 Brother Simmons "norated" meeting on Red 
 Bird the fourth Saturday and Sunday, and the 
 funeral of old Aunt Sally Berry at the grave 
 yard below Preacher Jake Wattses on Bull 
 Creek on the second Saturday and Sunday of 
 next month. Thus "all minds were dis 
 charged," and at four o'clock p. M. Brother 
 Albright "craved the benediction," and the Big 
 Meetin' on No Bus'ness wound lip.
 
 58 THE "WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 V. 
 
 Lindy felt better after the meeting had ended, 
 Tom, she felt sure, would be over early in the 
 week, and the whole matter would now be ad 
 justed to their mutual satisfaction. Marriages 
 in the mountains are speedily consummated 
 when once decided up3n, and Lindy built her 
 air-castle high. They would live with Tom's 
 parents for awhile, until Tom could get a little 
 clearing started on a corner of his father's farm, 
 and then she and Tom would be alone together. 
 A little cabin with a single room and a stick 
 chimney, t.vo chairs, a bed and a pine table 
 to this giddy altitude dil shs erect h?r aerial el- 
 ifice. 
 
 But Tom had no such thoughts. He had no 
 conception OL the reason for his rejection. 
 Girls as conscientious as Lindy are rare on No 
 Business and everywhere else. The rain began 
 Sunday night, and next morning Dan, Tom 
 and others left with the log rafts, floating down 
 with the "tide. 1 ' 
 
 Down, down the creek and into a larger one 
 full to the tops of its binks with a dark, muddy
 
 BIG MEETIN 1 ON" NO BUSINESS. 59 
 
 angry looking liquid; out on the rapid, swollen 
 river; down, down between high cliffs, and 
 through the narrow gorge in Pine Mountain; 
 down, still down, landing and breaking up the 
 rafts to let the logs go singly over the falls, 
 then catching and re-fc.stening them below, 
 down, on down, the river growing wider as they 
 descended, until the logs were safely locked in 
 the boom at Jonesborough. 
 
 Tom lauded, pocketed his scanty wages and 
 wa^ed through the large mills, staring at the 
 large gang-sa vs, whose motion shook the whole 
 building, and looking on all sides of himself be 
 fore taking a step, 1 ;st he should fall into a saw 
 or be c au_gh L . in a be't. He went to the incline 
 anl wa':c'ied th> lo.^s as they were drawn up 
 from t le rive: into the mill, and then walked 
 out into the lumber yard. A man with a book 
 and measuring stick seemed to be giving orders 
 there. Tom watched him a while and then ap 
 proached him with 
 
 'Say, nrster, hev you got all the men you 
 want?' 1 
 
 ''I don't know," replied the man, "step into 
 the office yonder and inquire. 1 ' 
 
 The man at the disk looked up as Tom en 
 tered, and waited for him to tell his business.
 
 60 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 "Hev you got work for ary 'nother hand?" 
 asked Tom. 
 
 "What can you do?" 
 
 ' k l kin do a'most anything that takes jist 
 muscle, I reckon, and learn a'most anything as 
 takes more'n that. 1 ' 
 
 ''Elliot!" called thenianin the office through 
 the window to the man with whom Tom had 
 just spoken, ''has Smith got over his drunk 
 yet?" 
 
 "Guess not. He hasn't put in an appearance 
 this morning. 1 ' 
 
 k 'Do you need a man in his place? 1 ' 
 
 "Yes, we can use another one stacking lum 
 ber for a day or two anyhow." 
 
 So Tom secured a temporary place, which 
 afterwards hecame permanent, and he rose 
 gradually on his lumber-stack and in the esteem 
 of the yard-boss, who found him strong, active, 
 intelligent, willing and punctual. Tom's de 
 sire to learn led him to ask many questions 
 which showed how little he knew of the world; 
 but the answers were so carefully remembered 
 that he seldom appeared ignorant twice on the 
 same subject; and much of his verdancy and 
 mountain dialect wore off as time wore on. 
 
 Sunday came. Tom heard the bells ringing and 
 saw some of the two thousand people of Jones-
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'NESS. 61 
 
 borough going, as he learned, to church; but 
 as none of the mill-hands in the shanty where 
 he boarded went, and the people who seemed to 
 be going were better dressed than himself, Tom 
 stayed in the shant} T . He had a desire to go, 
 but thought he would better wait and learn 
 more about it. Meeting here and on No Bus'- 
 ness were evidently different things. 
 
 But in the afternoon the boys in the shanty 
 shaved and dressed up a little, and invited him 
 to go with them to Sunday-school. In a form 
 er mule-shed near the mills, the crowd assem 
 bled. The house, though rough was clean, and 
 the walls were papered with pictures illustrat 
 ing past Sunday school lessons. Most of those 
 present were rnill-hands and their families, and 
 Tom did not feel ashamed of his clothes, for 
 many were no better dressed than himself. 
 Soon there came from the town a man and 
 woman in a buggy, bringing with them a port 
 able organ. Tom listened with interest to the 
 opening exercises, and when placed in a class 
 with other young men, many of whom he had 
 met at the mill, he felt quite at home. The class 
 was taught by the yard-boss of the mill, j Tom 
 listened attentively to every question and ans 
 wer. The short hour of service soon passed, and 
 Tom was decidedly sorry when the end came.
 
 62 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 The organ was a great curiosity to him. 
 While the last hymn was singing he walked 
 half way up the aisle to hear it. Some of the 
 hands laughed at him afterwards, but Tom 
 said: 
 
 "Hit war a new wrinkle on my horn. I 
 wanted to git to whar I could see the little 
 thing a squawkin." 
 
 He determined to sit further forward next 
 Sunday to see the "little thing" manipulated. 
 In so doing he attracted the attention of the 
 conductor, who, at the close, spoke to him and 
 invited him to the meeting in the Front street 
 church at night. He felt much less at home 
 there, but enjoyed the singing; and some things 
 in the sermon did him good. 
 
 Tom. bought some school books and borrowed 
 others, and with the assistance of one of his 
 fellow laborers, advanced considerably in his 
 studies. After a while he bought a suit of store 
 clothes, and looked as well in them on Sundays 
 as the hero of a story ought. He became a reg 
 ular attendant at the Front street church; 
 and each month won him many new friends. 
 Daily he grew in knowledge, and learned lessons 
 of practical Christianity. 
 
 Mr. Elliott, the yard boss, considered him his 
 r ight hand man, and trusted him more and more;
 
 BIG MEETLSr' OK NO BUS'tfESS. 63 
 
 and in six months, on Mr. Elliott's recommen 
 dation, Torn was promoted and his wages raised. 
 Mr. Elliott saw in Tom the making of a noble 
 man. Gladly he assisted him in his lessons, 
 and especially in the study of the Bible. He 
 took him to his home and introduced him to 
 Mrs. Elliott, a kind, lively little woman, who 
 treated Tom in a manner half motherly, half 
 sisterly, and withal very pleasant to Tom. 
 
 But there were times when Tom felt a name 
 less sadness. Hard as he tried to forget Lindy, 
 to reproach her, to cease to care for her, not 
 a day passed in which he did not think of the 
 pleasant hours he had spent with her before 
 the Big Meeting on No Business. At length he 
 decided that she must by this time be the wife 
 of Sam Sanders, and that he did not care. But 
 there remained in his heart a very tender place 
 where his affection for Lindy had once been. 
 
 If Tom, who tried, could not forget Lindy, 
 much less could Lindy, who did not'iry, fcrget 
 Tom. 
 
 Every one on No Business was surprised 
 when Tom left; and their surprise was doubled 
 when Dan Walker and his crowd returning, re 
 ported that Tom had secured a position in 
 Jonesborough and was going to stay. Mrs. 
 Hale was especially puzzled.
 
 64 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 "Lindy," she asked, "what's the hardness 
 atwixt you an' Tom?" 
 
 "I never knowed as they wair no hardness, 1 ' 
 replied Lindy, evasively. 
 
 "Haiut ye done had no quarrelin' ?" asked her 
 mother. 
 
 "No," answered Lindy briefly. 
 
 Mrs. Hale wanted to ask more, but forbore 
 lest she should reveal the curiosity she felt. She 
 merely remarked that hit was mighty quare. 
 That gals nowadays didn't know their own 
 minds. Hyur Lindy had druv off Tom Baker, 
 as stiddy a young feller as they was on the 
 creek, and couldn't tell wy she done hit. Gals 
 was gittin' mighty p'tic'lar wen they wanted 
 better fellers 'n' Tom Baker. But thet was the 
 way go through the woods and cut a crooked 
 stick at las'. 
 
 But as Lindy held her peace, the old lady 
 changed her opinion. 
 
 "No, hit caint be thet away," she said to her 
 self. "Lindy thinks a heap o' Tom, an' Tom 
 thinks right smart o' Lindy. Tom's jest went 
 down thar fur to yarn him a leetle grain o' 
 money to start on, an' he'll come back in a few 
 months an' marry Lindy." 
 
 Nothing had occurred to remove this im 
 pression, when one afternoon almost a year
 
 BIG MEET/IN' ON NO BUSINESS. 65 
 
 after Tom's departure, Tom himself, well 
 dressed, rode up the creek and alighted at 
 'Lijah's post-and-railing. 
 
 u Wy Tom Baker ! Laws a massy ef it taint 
 you," exclaimed Mrs. Hale, wiping her hand on 
 her apron before extending it. t% Law, law! 
 Wy yer face looks familiar but yer cloe's is plum 
 like Sam Saiiderses. Well, well! Take a cheer 
 an 1 se' down. Yes; all tol'able well. The ole 
 man's pestered right smart with the rheuma- 
 tiz an' I've got the newralgy powerful bad. Ole 
 Tom Sawyers has got the eyeresypilus, an' ole 
 Aunt Sally Gilreath is a dyin' of a cayncer an' 
 they're a havin' the whoopin'-cough mighty 
 bad up on Dif/?culty, an' the sore eyes has broke 
 eout in the school; an' Joe Jones is sick the 
 doctor sez he's got the scrofulo. An' corn 
 haint no 'count, an' the mast is light; an' I 
 drempt last night o' corabin' my' k head an' a fin'- 
 in' lice, an' that's a sign o' sickness. They's 
 ben a sight o' trouble sence you lef. But 
 whar ye ben, Tom?'' she asked, not because she 
 had told all the news, but for once was more 
 anxious to listen than to talk. 
 
 Tom told her of his success. u An' I reckon 
 you've come back to marry Lindy an' settle 
 down on No Bus'ness agin, hey?" 
 
 "I I haint a goin' to stay," stammered Tom.
 
 06 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 "I come up to brand some logs the company's 
 got up in here, and see to getting them floated 
 down when the tide comes." 
 
 Mrs. Hale saw his blush and understood it, as 
 she would have understood any act, as an ac 
 knowledgment of his intention to marry Lindy. 
 "An' so you'll tote Lindy way off down the 
 river. An' me a gittin' old, an' Jinny no 'count 
 fur to do housework, an' sickness a comin' 
 law! law!" and thus she went on. 
 
 ''Where is Lindy at?" asked Torn. 
 
 "She's gone up the creek to her Aunt Betty's. 
 Don't be in a resh, Tom. Hit's a couple o' 
 hours b' sun yit. Stay 'n' hev supper, an' lift 
 yer saddle 'n' put out yer nag." But Tom said 
 he must be getting home. 
 
 Lindy's Aunt Betty lived on Troublesome, 
 and Tom's best road was up Dif/jculty, but he 
 concluded to take the Troublesome road. There 
 wasn't much difference, nohow, he persuaded 
 himself. 
 
 He pondered the old lady's words. Lindy 
 wasn't married. He had feared she would be 
 expected to find her so, though he had pro 
 fessed to himself not to care. It was evident 
 that he had decided too hastily about Sam San 
 ders. 
 
 "I'll try her again," he thought. "No, I-
 
 BIO MEETIN' ON" NO BUSINESS. 67 
 
 won't either," he debated, "once is enough. 
 But maybe now, just maybe it might be diff 
 erent this time. No harm to try, anyway. 
 Yes, I will But no. Anyway, I don't believe 
 I will. I hope I'll meet her on the road. I'll 
 just say, 'Howdy,' and ride by, and see how she 
 takes it." 
 
 He decided to ride slowly that he might be 
 more certain to meet her returning; but found 
 himself constantly touching his horse with the 
 spur. He saw a sun-bonnet ahead yes, it was 
 Lindy's, a turn in the road revealed her com 
 ing toward him. Tom's heart beat faster and 
 his face flushed more deeply with each step of 
 his horse. They were very near before Lindy 
 recognized him. Then suddenly her face 
 lighted up with a look which Tom saw and 
 understood in spite of her quick effort to 
 hide it. He did not say "Howdy'' and ride on, 
 but dismounted and walked back with her. 
 They said little there was little need for 
 words, as hand in hand, after the mountain 
 fashion for lovers, they descended the road on 
 the creek bank through the reddening foliage 
 of the early autumn. And Tom stayed at 
 'Lijah Hale's for supper. 
 
 Tom went back to Jonesborough a happy 
 man, and quietly made some arrangements. A
 
 68 THE WIND-UP OF THE 
 
 little box-house of two rooms near the mill has 
 been rented and plainly furnished, and is to 
 be occupied about Christmas week. And Lindy 
 is to have her geography and grammar, and 
 attend, for the present, the Jonesborough 
 school. 
 
 It would be pleasant, if it were possible, to 
 bring prophesy in where history stops, and de 
 scribe the mental and spiritual growth of Tom 
 and Lindy in their new situation. But here we 
 must leave them, believing that if we ever meet 
 them again, we shall discern in their life, signs 
 of gratifying progress since the Wind-Up of 
 the Big Meetin' on No Bus'ness.
 
 BIG MEETIN' ON NO BUS'ITESS. 69 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 The author ventures to hope that his little 
 story has roused in the reader more than a pass 
 ing interest in the people of the Cumberland 
 Mountains. Shut in from contact with the 
 world, destitute of railroads and navigable 
 streams, progress has gone around them; and 
 though now somewhat rapidly improving in 
 places, they are still destitute of many- advan 
 tages. 
 
 They were loyal to the nation in its dark 
 hours, and the nation owes them a debt of grat 
 itude. The American Missionary Association 
 to the extent of its ability, is extending to 
 them the advantages of better schools and 
 churches. In this endeavor it deserves the 
 support, not simply of a denomination, but of 
 all friends of charity and justice. 
 
 To the kind-hearted mountain folk the 
 author is indebted for unnumbered acts of hos 
 pitality and friendship. With feelings of kind 
 ness and gratitude only, he looks back upon his 
 life among them.
 
 70 THE WESTD-TJP OF THE 
 
 The oddities of mountain character are no 
 where more prominent than in their meetings; 
 and no attempt has been made in the story to 
 soften down the mingling of the sublime and 
 the ridiculous which sometimes appears in them, 
 under the leadership of the more ignorant 
 preachers. It is hoped that no reader will re 
 gard this story as evidence of any desire on the 
 part of the author to ridicule or treat lightly 
 the religious sentiment of the mountaineer, 
 which is deep-seated and generally sincere, how 
 ever odd or even uncouth the form of its 
 expression. 
 
 Berea College, Kentucky, and the A. M. A. 
 are sending teachers and missionaries into 
 this region. Berea has educated many young 
 mountaineers who must otherwise have grown 
 up in ignorance; and scores of her students 
 spend their summer vacations teaching the 
 mountain schools. Her work is far-reaching, 
 and of inestimable value. 
 
 The Congregational Sunday School and Pub 
 lishing Society, also, is doing admirable work, 
 both independently and in connection with the 
 work of the American Missionary Association. 
 There is probably no missionary society which 
 makes a dollar go further in its noble work of 
 saving^souls.
 
 BIG MEETEff' ON NO BUS'tfESS. 71 
 
 The author takes the liberty of appending the 
 names of officers who will gladly give informa 
 tion concerning, or receive aid for, this work: 
 
 Rev. M. E. Strieby, 56 Reade St., N. Y., Rev. 
 J. E. Roy, 151 W. Washington St., Chicago, 
 Secretaries of the A. M. A.; Rev. A. E. Dun 
 ning, Secretary Congregational S. S. and Pub. 
 Society, Congregational House, Boston; P. D. 
 Dodge. Secretary and Treasurer Berea College, 
 Berea, Ky. 
 
 There is no better way of lending to the 
 Lord than by assisting either of these objects. 
 Much has been done, much is now in prog 
 ress, but there remaineth yet very much land 
 to be possessed. 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 UNIVERSITY of CALIFORNIA 
 
 AT 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
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 1953 
 
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