There, mounted upon a
barrel, was Elias B. Hopkins, the newest of the inhabitants of
Jackman's Gulch, with a good-humoured smile upon his resolute face.
He held an open Bible in his hand, and was reading aloud a passage
taken at random--an extract from the Apocalypse, if I remember
right. The words were entirely irrelevant and without the smallest
bearing upon the scene before him, but he plodded on with great
unction, waving his left hand slowly to the cadence of his words.
There was a general shout of laughter and applause at this
apparition, and Jackman's Gulch gathered round the barrel
approvingly, under the impression that this was some ornate joke,
and that they were about to be treated to some mock sermon or
parody of the chapter read. When, however, the reader, having
finished the chapter, placidly commenced another, and having
finished that rippled on into another one, the revellers came to
the conclusion that the joke was somewhat too long-winded. The
commencement of yet another chapter confirmed this opinion, and an
angry chorus of shouts and cries, with suggestions as to gagging
the reader or knocking him off the barrel, rose from every side.
In spite of roars and hoots, however, Elias B. Hopkins plodded away
at the Apocalypse with the same serene countenance, looking as
ineffably contented as though the babel around him were the most
gratifying applause. Before long an occasional boot pattered
against the barrel or whistled past our parson's head; but here
some of the more orderly of the inhabitants interfered in favour of
peace and order, aided curiously enough by the afore-mentioned
Maule and Phillips, who warmly espoused the cause of the little
Scripture reader.
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