"'Tain't Mr. Edwards alone, Miss Daisy," said Margaret, speaking low.
"It's agin the law for us to have meetin's anyhow, 'cept we get leave,
and say what house it shall be, and who's a comin', and what we'se
comin' for. And it's no use asking Mr. Edwards, 'cause he don't see no
reason why black folks should have meetin's."

"Did Darry have a prayer-meeting without leave?" I asked.

"'Twarn't no count of a meetin'!" said Theresa, a little touch of
scorn, or indignation, coming into her voice; "and Darry, he war in
his own house prayin'. Dere warn't nobody dere, but Pete and ole
'Liza, and Maria, cook, and dem two Johns dat come from de lower
plantation. Dey couldn't get a strong meetin' into Uncle Darry's
house; 'tain't big enough to hold 'em."

"And what did the overseer do to Darry?" I asked.

"Laws, Miss Daisy," said Margaret, with a quick look at the other
woman; "he didn't do nothing to hurt Darry; he only want to scare de
folks."

"Dey's done scared," said Theresa, under her breath.

"What is it?" I said, steadying myself by my hold on Theresa's
shoulder, and feeling that I must stand till I had finished my
inquiry: "how did he know about the meeting? and what did he do to
Darry? Tell me! I must know. I must know, Margaret."

"Spect he was goin' through the quarters, and he heard Darry at his
prayin'," said Margaret. "Darry he don't mind to keep his prayers
secret, he don't," she added, with a half laugh. "Spect nothin' but
they'll bust the walls o' that little house some day."

"Dey's powerful!" added Theresa. "But he warn't prayin' no harm; he
was just prayin', 'Dy will be done on de eart' as it be in de
heaven'--Pete, he tell me. Darry warn't saying not'ing--he just pray
'Dy will be done.'"

"Well?" I said, for Margaret kept silent.

"And de oberseer, he say--leastways he swore, he did--dat _his_ will
should be done on dis plantation, and he wouldn't have no such work.
He say, der's nobody to come togedder after it be dark, if it's two or
t'ree, 'cept dey gets his leave, Mass' Ed'ards, he say; and dey won't
get it."

"But what did he do to Darry?" I could scarcely hold myself on my feet
by this time.

"He whipped him, I reckon," said Margaret, in a low tone, and with a
dark shadow crossing her face, very different from its own brown
duskiness.

"He don't have a light hand, Mass' Ed'ards," went on Theresa, "and he
got a sharp, new whip. De second stripe--Pete, he tell me this
evenin'--and it