m
the cooling earth, condensing into heavy dew on the dusty leaves of the
plants in the ditch. Above the lowering pines the horizon burned to a
deep scarlet, like an inverted brazier at red heat, and one gigantic
tree, rising beyond the jagged line of the forest, was silhouetted
sharply against the enkindled clouds. Suddenly, from the shadows of the
long road, a voice rose plaintively. It was rich and deep and
colourific, and it seemed to hover close to the warmth of the earth,
weighed down by its animal melody. It had mingled so subtly with the
stillness that it was as much a part of nature as the cry of a
whip-poor-will beyond the thicket or the sunset in the pine-guarded
west. At first it came faintly, and the words were lost, but as Nicholas
gained upon the singer he caught more clearly the air and the song.

"_Oh, de Ark hit came ter res'
On-de-hill,
Oh, de Ark hit came ter res'
On-de-hill,
En' dar ole Noah stood,
En' spread his han's abroad,
Er sacri-fice ter-Gawd
On-de-hill._"

Nicholas quickened his pace into a run and, in a moment, saw the
stooping figure of an old negro toiling up the red clay hillside, a
staff in his hand and a bag of meal on his shoulder. In the vivid light
of the sunset his stature was exaggerated in size, giving him an
appearance at once picturesque and pathetic--softening his rugged
outline and magnifying the distortion of age.

As he ascended the gradual incline he planted his staff firmly in the
soil, shifting his bag from side to side and uttering inaudible grunts
in the pauses of his song.

"_En' dar, mid flame en smoke,
De great Jehovah s-poke.
En' awful thunder b-roke,
On-de-hill._"

"Uncle Ish!" called the boy sharply. The old man lowered the bag from
his shoulder and turned slowly round.

"Who dat?" he demanded severely. "Ain't I done tell you dar ain' no
ha'nts 'long dis yer road?"

"It's me, Uncle Ish," said the boy. "It's Nick Burr. I heard you singing
a long ways off."

"Den what you want ter go a-hollerin' en a-stealin' up on er ole nigger
fer des' 'bout sundown?"

"But, Uncle Ish, I didn't mean to scare you. I jest heard--"

"Skeer! Who dat you been skeerin'? Ain't I done tole you dar ain' no
ha'nts round dese parts? What I gwine ter be skeered fer uv er little no
'count white trash dat ain' never own er nigger in dere life? Who you
done skeer dis time?"

He picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder