r of character would have said of him,
"Here is a man of solid judgement, careful in deliberation, prompt in
execution, and decisive."

It was the perception in him of these very qualities which had prompted
the authorities of the little college where he had taken his degree and
received his theological training, to urge him to go among his people at
the South, and there to exert his powers for good where the field was
broad and the laborers few.

Born of Southern parents from whom he had learned many of the
superstitions and traditions of the South, Howard Dokesbury himself had
never before been below Mason and Dixon's line. But with a confidence
born of youth and a consciousness of personal power, he had started
South with the idea that he knew the people with whom he had to deal,
and was equipped with the proper weapons to cope with their
shortcomings.

But as he looked around upon the scene which now met his eye, a doubt
arose in his mind. He picked up his bag with a sigh, and approached a
man who had been standing apart from the rest of the loungers and
regarding him with indolent intentness.

"Could you direct me to the house of Stephen Gray?" asked the minister.

The interrogated took time to change his position from left foot to
right and shift his quid, before he drawled forth, "I reckon you's de
new Mefdis preachah, huh?"

"Yes," replied Howard, in the most conciliatory tone he could command,
"and I hope I find in you one of my flock."

"No, suh, I's a Babtist myse'f. I wa'n't raised up no place erroun' Mt.
Hope; I'm nachelly f'om way up in Adams County. Dey jes' sont me down
hyeah to fin' you an' tek you up to Steve's. Steve, he's workin' to-day
an' couldn't come down."

He laid particular stress upon the "to-day," as if Steve's spell of
activity were not an every-day occurrence.

"Is it far from here?" asked Dokesbury.

"'T ain't mo' 'n a mile an' a ha'f by de shawt cut."

"Well, then, let's take the short cut, by all means," said the preacher.

They trudged along for a while in silence, and then the young man asked,
"What do you men about here do mostly for a living?"

"Oh, well, we does odd jobs, we saws an' splits wood an' totes bundles,
an' some of 'em raises gyahden, but mos' of us, we fishes. De fish bites
an' we ketches 'em. Sometimes we eats 'em an' sometimes we sells 'em; a
string o' fish'll bring a peck o' co'n any time."

"And is that all you do?"

"'Bout."

"Why, I don't see