When Jake had
arrived home from his encounter he had told Kate, his wife, all about
it, coloring it in his own favor.
"I went over to see Robert Davis and kindly asked him to let me have
the chickenhouse and to reprove him gently for the way he had treated
dad, and, what do you think? he jumped on me as mad as he could be.
I'll get even with Bob Davis, I will. The mean rascal," said Jake.
"Well, of all things, is that the way holiness men do? A pretty mess
for Davis to get into," said Kate.
"I'll fix him. Wait till a good chance comes, and I will make him
sorry enough," said Jake. "Little good he can do in this neighborhood,
living like that."
"But Jake, you are a member of the church, and you must be careful how
you live," said Kate.
"Oh, yes, I suppose so," said Jake laconically.
But Jake's religion did not concern him very much. Everybody knew
that. His name was on the church book, and Jake paid a little money in
now and then, but as for prayer or testimony, he had none, and as for
vital, personal godliness and personal salvation, to these he was a
perfect stranger.
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