Give the devil his
due. But all the same, if Andrew Jackson does try to chastise Peter
Cartwright for what he said last night, there's a-going to be trouble.
Now mark my word! I know as well, and better than any of you, that Peter
is only a boy. Many's the time that I've seen his mother take off her
slipper and turn him across her lap. And she never hit him a lick amiss,
either. But that's neither here nor there. His being young don't keep me
from seeing that he has surely got the Gift. It don't make any
difference that he hasn't cut his wisdom teeth, as they say. What if he
hasn't?" demanded Miss Penelope, with the most singular contrast between
her mild tone and her fierce words. "What has the cutting of wisdom
teeth got to do with preaching, when the preacher has been given the
Gift!"
So speaking, she suddenly started up from the table with an exclamation
of surprise, and ran to the open door.
"Peter! Oh, Peter Cartwright!" she called. "Wait--stop a minute. To
think of your going by right at the very minute that we were a-talking
about you!"
She went out under the trees where the square-built, stern-faced,
swarthy young preacher had brought his horse to a standstill.
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