"Where's Shorty Hobb with his fiddle?" said he.

"Parky wouldn't leave him come," answered Bone. "He loaned him money
on his vierlin, and he says he owns it and won't leave him play in no
church that ever got invented."

"Parky, hey?" said Jim, drawlingly. "Wal, bless his little home'pathic
pill of a soul!"

"He says he's fed more poor and done more fer charity than any man in
town," informed a voice.

"Does, hey?" said the miner. "I'll bet his belly's the only poor thing
he feeds regular. His hand ain't got callous cutting bread for the
orphans. But he ain't a subject for church. If only I'd 'a' known
what he was agoin' to do I'd made a harp. But let it go. We'll start
off with roll-call and follow that up with a song."

He therefore began with the name of Webber, who responded "Here," and
proceeding to note who was present, he drawled the name or familiar
sobriquet of each in turn, till all had admitted they were personally
in attendance.

"Ahem," said Jim, at the end of this impressive ceremony. "Now we'll
sing a hymn. What hymn do you fellows prefer?"

There was not a great confusion of replies; in fact, the confusion
resulted from a lack thereof.