o she
closed the book, and gave it to Mammy to put away for her, and she and
Dumps went out for a ride on Corbin.

CHAPTER VI.

UNCLE SNAKE-BIT BOB'S SUNDAY-SCHOOL.

There was no more faithful slave in all the Southland than old Uncle
Snake-bit Bob. He had been bitten by a rattlesnake when he was a boy,
and the limb had to be amputated, and its place was supplied with a
wooden peg. There were three or four other "Bobs" on the plantation, and
he was called _Snake-bit_ to distinguish him. Though lame, and sick a
good deal of his time, his life had not been wasted, nor had he been a
useless slave to his master. He made all of the baskets that were used
in the cotton-picking season, and had learned to mend shoes; besides
that, he was the great horse-doctor of the neighborhood, and not only
cured his master's horses and mules, but was sent for for miles around
to see the sick stock; and then, too, he could re-bottom chairs, and
make buckets and tubs and brooms; and all of the money he made was his
own: so the old man had quite a little store of gold and silver sewed up
in an old bag and buried somewhere--nobody knew where except himself;
for Uncle Snake-bit Bob had never married, and had no family ties; and,
furthermore, he was old Granny Rachel's only child, and Granny had died
long, _long_ ago, ever since the children's mother was a baby, and he
had no brothers or sisters. So, having no cause to spend his money, he
had laid it up until now he was a miser, and would steal out by himself
at night and count his gold and silver, and chuckle over it with great
delight.

But he was a very good old man; as Mammy used to say, "he wuz de piuses
man dar wuz on de place;" and he had for years led in "de
pra'r-meetin's, and called up de mo'ners."

One evening, as he sat on a hog-pen talking to Uncle Daniel, who was a
preacher, they began to speak of the wickedness among the young negroes
on the plantation.

"Pyears ter me," said Uncle Bob, "ez ef dem niggers done furgot dey got
ter die; dey jes er dancin' an' er cavortin' ev'y night, an' dey'll git
lef', mun, wheneber dat angel blow his horn. I tell you what I ben er
stud'n, Brer Dan'l. I ben er stud'n dat what's de matter wid deze
niggers is, dat de chil'en ain't riz right. Yer know de Book hit sez ef
yer raise de chil'en, like yer want 'em ter go, den de ole uns dey won't
part fum hit; an', sar, ef de Lord spars me tell nex' Sunday, I 'low ter
ax marster ter lemme te