that Jovita's invasion--which was to bring dissipation and ruin to
Buckeye--had indirectly brought two churches! A chilling doubt like a
cold mist settled along the river. As the two rival processions passed
on the third Sunday, Jo Bateman, who had been in the habit of reclining
on that day in his shirtsleeves under a tree, with a novel in his hand,
looked gloomily after them. Then knocking the ashes from his pipe, he
rose, shook hands with his partners, said apologetically that he had
lately got into the habit of RESPECTING THE SABBATH, and was too old
to change again, and so shook the red dust of Buckeye from his feet and
departed.

As yet there had not been the slightest evidence of disorderly conduct
on the part of the fair proprietress of the tienda, nor her customers,
nor any drunkenness or riotous disturbance that could be at all
attributed to her presence. There was, it is true, considerable
hilarity, smoking, and some gambling there until a late hour, but
this could not be said to interfere with the rest and comfort of other
people. A clue to the mystery of so extraordinary a propriety was given
by Jovita herself. One day she walked into Parks' Emporium and demanded
an interview with the proprietor.

"You have made the rules for thees Booki?"

"Yes--that is--I and my friends have."

"And when one shall not have mind the rule--when one have say, 'No! damn
the rule,' what shall you make to him? Shall you aprison him?"

Mr. Parks hastened to say with a superior, yet engaging smile that it
never had been necessary, as the rules were obligatory upon the honor