ing's
chillen ain't no better dan de worl's chillen be.'

"De Lord Jesus, he say to me,--'Pompey, you must be faithful in de
little things as well as in de big. I never slurred nuthin when I wuz a
walkin' up and down troo Palestine. I sees you, Pompey; don't make no
difference whether de earthly master does or not.' So I does all de
little tings to de Lord, Miss 'Vadney, an' de Jedge knows he can depen'
on Pompey. Whenever he wants me, I'se here."

"That is lovely!" said Evadne softly. "But don't you get dreadfully
tired doing the same work over and over? Every day you have to do
exactly the same things. It is as bad as a tread-mill. You just keep on
going round and round."

Pompey gave one of his low chuckles. "'Specs dat's de way in dis worl',
Miss 'Vadney. We'se got ter keep on eatin', an' we can't sleep enuff one
night ter last fer a week,--but I 'low it's jes' one o' de beautiful
laws ob de Lord,--de sun an' de moon an' de stars keeps a'goin over de
same ground most continuous. So long as we'se doin' his will, Missy, it
don't matter much whether we'se goin' roun' an' roun' or straight ahead.
Stan' over, Ceesah!" and Pompey gave a final polish to the horse's
already immaculate legs.

"Why don't you blacken their hoofs, Pompey? They used to do it in
Barbadoes."

Pompey's eyes twinkled. "Dat's a no 'count livery notion, Miss 'Vadney,
a coverin' up de cracks an' makin' de horse's hufs look better dan dey
is. De King's chillens can't stoop ter any sech decepshuns. De Lord
Jesus says, 'Pompey, I is de truff. You's got ter speak de truff an'
live de truff ef you belongs ter me.' We ain't got no call ter cover up
anything, Miss 'Vadney, ef we'se livin' ez de Lord wants us to. 'Sides,
der ain't no 'cashun fer it. Ef we keeps de stable pure an' de food good
an' gives de horse de right kind of exercise an' plenty of 'tention, de
hufs will take care ob demselves," and he held Caesar's foot up for her
inspection.

"Halloo, Evadne, are you taking lessons in farriery? What's the matter,
Pompey? Has Caesar got a sand crack?" and Louis sauntered up, the
inevitable cigar between his lips.

"I don't 'low my horses ever hez sech things, Mass Louis," said Pompey
grandly.

"Ha, ha! what a conceited old beggar you are. But I'll give the devil
his due and acknowledge the horses are a credit to you." He held a dollar
towards him balanced on his forefinger. "Here, take this and fill your
pipe with it."

"Don't want no pay fer d