The Quickening

The revival in Paradise Valley, conducted by the Reverend Silas Crafts, of South Tredegar, was in the middle of its second week, and the field-to use Brother Crafts' own word-waswhite to the harvest.Little Zoar, the square, weather-tinged wooden church at the head of the valley, built uponland donated to the denomination in times long past by an impenitent but generous MajorDabney, stood a little way back from the pike in a grove of young pines. By half-past six ofthe June evening the revivalist's congregation had begun to assemble.Those who came farthest were first on the ground; and by the time twelve-year-oldThomas Jefferson, spatting barefooted up the dusty pike, had reached the church-housewith the key, there was a goodly sprinkling of unhitched teams in the grove, the horseschamping their feed noisily in the wagon-boxes, and the people gathering in littleneighborhood knots to discuss gravely the one topic uppermost in all minds-the presentoutpouring of grace on Paradise Valley and the region round-about."D'ye reckon the Elder'll make it this time with his brother-in-law?" asked a tall, flatchested mountaineer from the Pine Knob uplands."Samantha Parkins, she allows that Caleb has done sinned away his day o' grace," saidanother Pine Knobber, "but I ain't goin' that far. Caleb's a sight like the iron he makes inthat old furnace o' his'n-honest and even-grained, and just as good for plow-points andthe like as it is for soap-kittles. But hot 'r cold, it's just the same; ye cayn't change hit, and yecayn't change him."