continue his ministrations on the
other side. If he wants to, he can have a room built in which to lead
their worship."

"But you do' want him to leave us altogethah?"

"If you do not care to share your meeting-house with them, they can
have one of their own."

"But, look hyeah, Missy, dem Lousiany people, dey bad--an' dey hoodoo
folks, an' dey Cath'lics--"

"Eliza!"

"'Scuse me, Missy, chile, bless yo' hea't, you know I do' mean no ha'm
to you. But somehow I do' feel right in my hea't 'bout Brothah Simon."

"Never mind, Eliza, it is only evil that needs to be watched, the good
will take care of itself."

It was not one, nor two, nor three Sundays that Brother Simon was away
from his congregation, but six passed before he was there again. He
was seen to be very busy tinkering around during the week, and then
one Sunday he appeared suddenly in his pulpit. The church nodded and
smiled a welcome to him. There was no change in him. If anything he
was more fiery than ever. But, there was a change. Lize, who was
news-gatherer and carrier extraordinary, bore the tidings to her
owners. She burst into the big house with the cry of "Whut I tell you!
Whut I tell you!"

"Well, what now," exclaimed both Mr. and Mrs. Marston.

"Didn' I tell you ol' Simon was up to some'p'n?"

"Out with it," exclaimed her master, "out with it, I knew he was up to
something, too."

"George, try to remember who you are."

"Brothah Simon come in chu'ch dis mo'nin' an' he 'scended up de
pulpit--"

"Well, what of that, are you not glad he is back?"

"Hol' on, lemme tell you--he 'scended up de pu'pit, an' 'menced his
disco'se. Well, he hadn't no sooner got sta'ted when in walked one o'
dem brazen Lousiany wenches--"

"Eliza!"

"Hol' on, Miss M'ree, she walked in lak she owned de place, an'
flopped huhse'f down on de front seat."

"Well, what if she did," burst in Mrs. Marston, "she had a right. I
want you to understand, you and the rest of your kind, that that
meeting-house is for any of the hands that care to attend it. The
woman did right. I hope she'll come again."

"I hadn' got done yit, Missy. Jes' ez soon ez de sehmont was ovah,
whut mus' Brothah Simon, de 'zortah, min' you, whut mus' he do but
come hoppin' down f'om de pu'pit, an' beau dat wench home! 'Scorted
huh clah 'crost de plantation befo' evahbody's face. Now whut you call
dat?"

"I call it politeness, that is what I call it. What are you laughing
at, Mr. Marston? I