That very night Sammy was strolling past the church when he heard voices and saw a familiar truck. He ducked behind a tree and watched as Archibald Thacker and his four sons unrolled a hose from their truck and ran it into the church. After about fifteen minutes they rolled it back up again and took off. Sammy went into the church, and immediately his eyes fell on the baptismal font. Eyebrow cocked, he dipped in a finger, tasted it, and recoiled. So it seemed that Thacker and his sons were engaged in the frowned-on but fun-filled business of moonshine distilling. Sammy had wondered, putting two and two together from the little things he heard and saw here and there—Abraham and Isaac measuring the font, Thacker talking about being thankful that Reverend Pruitt couldn't get anyone baptized, and just yesterday he'd heard Jacob and Judah talking about how glad they were that Leroy, Harvey's son and fellow policeman, wasn't too observant, or he would have seen the dripping when he stopped them for losing junk from the truck. They must have had a mix-up in their delivery schedule or something and had to find a quick place to store the stuff. Sammy shook his head, amused. Thacker had kept his secret, so he'd keep Thacker's. He just hoped poor Perry didn't find out.

Perry was too bewildered to notice much of anything. As the day of the bonfire approached and it got more and more publicity and Tolliver took more and more control of the situation, Perry's mind became more and more boggled. The Weevils, whom he'd hoped to vilify, heard of the bonfire and expressed thanks for the publicity he was giving them. On the day of the bonfire, the church yard and parking lot were teeming with people—some carrying signs against the Weevils and records to burn, others carrying signs declaring their love for the Weevils. There were carts selling hotdogs and popcorn and drinks. There were stands with souvenirs and fireworks. There were reporters and photographers and video cameramen. There were families with picnic lunches and teens in groups and militant older women. The bucking bronco Perry had started to ride had thrown him off, and he hadn't the slightest idea how to get back on. Sammy felt sorry for him. Perry knew he should have been filled with a burning desire to preach to the crowd then and there, but he wasn't.

Norm and Lucille had closed the bus station and café to give Sammy some moral support. Tallasy came to see the fun, and Mrs. Tynan was there virtuously defending the minister. Tolliver and Percy drove through in Tolliver's flashy red convertible. Percy was slumped in the passenger seat, still dejected, but Tolliver raved about the cash they could make on this crowd.

Isaac Thacker was thinking along the same lines as he drove through with his dad and three brothers. "Do you know how much money we could make selling that moonshine at two bits a glass?"

"You have a good retail mind, son," Archibald said, "but we're in the wholesale business." He shook his head. "We should have gotten it out last night. Now we'll have to wait until everyone leaves. Hey, Governor!" This last was called jokingly to Tolliver driving along beside them.

Tolliver nudged Percy. "Governor! What do you think?"

Sammy, riding by on his bike, bit his lip to hide his grin. He exchanged a wink with Thacker and chained up his bike. People surged all around him, more people than he recalled ever being in Barrington before. The reporters were interviewing people on all sides. One snagged a dazed-looking Perry.

"Tell us what you think about what you have started here, Reverend."

Perry stared at him. "They're going to ruin the lawn." That was all they got out of him.

Tolliver was more than willing to say more than that. He took the microphone from the reporter's hand. "I sure am proud and honored to be part of this crusade! We must take action against the evils of these Weevils…" He droned on, dragging up all the pious phrases he could think of and making himself sound in charge and humble at the same time.

Then the reporter caught sight of Sammy, leaning against a tree and watching everything. "Oh, good, let's get the mute. Make sure you have the church in the background," he said to his cameraman. "Here we have the man who will shortly light the great bonfire. Sammy is his name. Sammy, you're a deaf-mute, right?"

Sammy half ignored him, gazing around with a delighted expression at all that was going on.

"Just smile and nod, Sammy," the reporter said.

Tallasy, taking pictures right and left, noticed the reporter trying to get a response of some kind out of Sammy and immediately flew to his rescue. "Hello, Sammy," she said brightly, worming in between them. "Why don't you just ask him if he peels his bananas before he eats them?"

Sammy spent his grin on a child passing. The reporter wasn't so amused.

"Oh, a talker. What's your name?"

"Joan of Arc," Tallasy drawled. "I love bonfires."

Sammy chortled inwardly, his eyes following the trail or a rocket flying into the sky.

"I see you've got some Weevil records there to burn."

"Oh, no, these are some Frank Sinatra records of my mother's that I've been longing to incinerate for a long time." She pulled the mic toward her. "Well, that's all for now, folks. More news at 11."

The reporter gave up.

Finally the sun went down, and the crowd began to call for the fire to be lit. Tolliver grabbed Perry and pulled him over to where Sammy was standing by the wood. He was handed a torch, which he lit and handed to the minister.

"Here you go, Reverend. Take the torch. Now hand it to Sammy. Hand it to Sammy, Reverend. Come on!"

Perry, still with that deer-in-the-headlights look, passed the torch over to Sammy. It was kind of awful, Sammy thought as he stood holding the torch. He heard every sour note from the band, every voice screaming, and couldn't help picturing that day Tolliver had thrown the firecracker at him to make him jump and talk. And now here he was about to light Tolliver's biggest firecracker ever. Well, he just couldn't do it. He wouldn't go along with it. He stood looking at Tolliver with his patent, blank look. With a sigh, Tolliver took the torch and lit the bonfire himself. People cheered and began to toss records on the pile as the flames climbed and sparks flared. Children were lighting firecrackers and rockets. "Praise Jesus!" Tolliver said hypocritically.

Sammy watched as one boy set a match to a rocket—and flinched. The rocket blasted sideways, flew up, and crashed straight through the round stained-glass window that the Barrington Church members were so proud of. Furthermore, it plummeted directly into the baptismal font—which was full of alcohol! It exploded, and within minutes the entire building was in flames. Members clutched each other in horror, Tallasy buried her face in Sammy's shoulder, the fire brigade raced for the fire engines.

Percy quivered. "Oh no. Oh no! No insurance! Not a nickel!"

Perry cried, "No! Some of my people might be in there! God, don't let anyone die!" And without a thought he plunged through the door.

"Reverend, come back!" one of the firemen shouted and dashed after him.

The town held its collective breath, sure their new minister was a goner. Women hid their children's eyes. After interminable minutes, a figure appeared in the flame-filled doorway. The crowd roared. It was Reverend Perry Ray Pruitt, bearing the unconscious figure of the fireman.

It was a night to remember. Perry Ray Pruitt had finally felt the hand of the Almighty, but the fallout from the Weevils' bonfire had some more far-reaching results.