"Another of her special despisin's--next to old maids and young
widows--used to be tobacco smoke. We had a revival preacher in East
Wellmouth that first winter and he stirred up things like a stick in a
mudhole. He was young and kind of good-lookin', with a voice like the
Skakit foghorn, and he took the sins of the world in his mouth, one
after the other, as you might say, and shook 'em same's a pup would a
Sunday bunnit. He laid into rum and rum sellin', and folks fairly got in
line to sign the pledge. 'Twas 'Come early and avoid the rush.' Got so
that Chris Badger hardly dast to use alcohol in his cigar-lighter.
"Then, havin' dried us up, that revival feller begun to smoke us out. He
preached six sermons on the evils of tobacco, and every one was hotter'n
the last. Accordin' to him, if you smoked now you'd burn later on. Lots
of the men folks threw their pipes away, and took to chewin' slipp'ry
ellum.
"Now, Kenelm smoked like a peat fire. He lit up after breakfast and
puffed steadily until bedtime, only puttin' his pipe down to eat, or to
rummage in his pocket for more tobacco. Hannah got him to go to one of
the anti-tobacco meetin's. He set through the whole of it, interested as
could be. Then, when 'twas over, he stopped in the church entry to
load up his pipe, and walked home with his sister, blowin' rings and
scratchin' matches and talkin' loud about how fine the sermon was.
He talked all next day about that sermon; said he'd go every night if
they'd let you smoke in there.
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