arts to _Thee_. Amen.'

When he concluded, Preston stepped to his side, and taking the big
ladle from his hand, said:

'Stand aside, Joe, you have done work enough for to-night;' and turning
to 'we white folks' in the family pew, he added: 'If any man among you
would be master, let him now be the servant of all. Let him try his hand
at the waiter business, and see if he can't throw these shady people
into the _shade_.'

Selma, Frank, 'massa Joe,' and I went forward, and tying the negroes'
aprons about our waists, took appropriate places around the table.

'Now all of you find seats,' cried Preston; and amid a hurricane of
giggling and merry laughter, the black people seated themselves on the
floor, on the platform, and on the row of benches ranged along the
walls. Preston proceeded to fill up the bowls with the savory stew, and
we dispensed the eatables among them, and for half an hour I witnessed
as much enjoyment as often falls to the lot of black sinners in this
'vale of tears.'

'Now, ef dis doan't beat all,' exclaimed old Dinah, as I handed her a
huge chunk of gingerbread; 'ef 'ou ain't right smart at waitin', massa
Kirke, I'd like ter know it.'

'Keep dark, ole 'ooman,' shouted Black Joe; 'doan't you say nuffin'
'bout dat, or de traders'll be a hole ob him. He'd sell fur a right
likely hand, _shore_.'

'I woan't do nuffin' but keep dark, Boss Joe,' rejoined Dinah, grinning
till her face opened from ear to ear. 'I'll hab 'ou know, sar, dat none
but white ladies paints!'

'Good fur you, ole lady,' cried the preacher. 'After dat you'll gib me
de pleasure ob your hand in de fuss dance.'

'Ob course, I will, _mister_ Joe; an' ef 'ou'm tired ob de ole 'ooman,
I'll gib 'ou my han' in anoder dance.'

'No, you woan't, I doan't gwo fur second marridges,' rejoined Joe,
looking slyly at Preston; 'dey ain't made in heaben.'

'No more' dey ain't,' said the old woman, heaving a long sigh, and also
looking at Preston.

'You ain't a gwine to leff dese folks dance in de church, am you, Boss
Joe?' asked a prim, demure-looking darky, in a black suit, with a white
neckerchief and stiff shirt collar; probably some neighboring preacher.

'I reckon so,' replied Joe, dryly.

'An' _I_ reckons so, too, mister I scare-you-out (Iscariot),' cried the
old negress. 'Ain't de planets de Lord's feet, an' doant dey dance! I
reckons we ain't no better dan de Lord is; an' ef He mobes him feet,
'ou'd better mobe 'our'n. _We_ b'lieve