he preacher cried:

"The devil must be in you all, that is no hymn to sing at all!"

Were those black people wilfully stupid? By no means. They did not know
but they were doing as they had always done. The hymn-book was Greek to
them, words were words; therefore they took up Uncle Mat's last words as
innocently as if they had been

"On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,
And cast a wishful eye."

Uncle Mat's patience gave out completely; he hurled his book at the
musical leader's head:

"Dere, now see if ye can stop yer 'fernal noise. What bizness yer sing
dat? Dats nothin' for to sing. You don't know nothin'. You biggest heap
o' wooly heads I eber did see. Was der eber such a pack o'
ignerant-ramuses eber in dis world afore? I answer 'firmatively--no!
What's de use o' temptin' to preach to sich people? Dey wouldn't know if
one was to rise from de dead. Not know de diff'rence 'tween psalm tunes
an nuffin else! Dis people be dismissed."

The latter sentence was pronounced most disdainfully. The chorister,
with head unbroken, and temper unruffled, arose and begged they might
all be forgiven their heedlessness; it would be so great a
disappointment to have the meeting broken up so prematurely, it would
give them great pleasure if Uncle Mat would be _so_ kind as to dispense
with singing and proceed to prayers and exhortations. One or two other
prominent members followed in much the same strain, flattering the
indignant preacher by making special reference to his eloquence and
popularity.

This had the desired effect. Uncle Mat became mollified, and wiping the
angry perspiration from his brow, he embarked upon his longest
prayer--during which our China and many others fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER XV.

KIZZIE.

"Lucy," said Mrs. Lisle, to a dwarfed child of thirteen years, who was
one of those creatures expected to "run two ways at once," "run, Lucy,
and tell Kizzie to come straight here to me."

The winged child came speedily back, accompanied by the weaver, a stolid
looking old negress named Kizzie.

"Kizzie," exclaimed her mistress, "I know you have stolen the cover to
that barrel that has been standing for so long outside the store-room."

"What for should I want wid de cover, Missis?" inquired the servant.

"That is for you to tell, and right soon too--do you hear me?"

"I have never touched the cover, Missis."

"I do not believe you. Who has then?"

"Sure, an' I doesn't know. You allus lays