'em loose p'omiskyus fur a while tell ev'ybody see blue lightnin'
in de air, an' de mo'ner's bench is full, an' when I see ev'ybody is
ready ter run fur 'is life, of co'se I eases up an' settles down on
whatever sinner seem like he's de leastest skeered tell I nails 'im
fast."

[Illustration: "'I DES LETS 'EM LOOSE P'OMISKYUS, TELL EV'YBODY SEE
BLUE LIGHTNIN''"]

He hesitated here a moment.

"De onies' trouble," he resumed, presently. "De onies' trouble wid
havin' mixed glances is 'dat seem like hit confines a man ter preach
wrath.

"So long as I tried preachin' Heaven, wid golden streets an' harp
music, I nuver fe'ched in a soul, but 'cep'n' sech as was dis a-waitin'
fur de open do' _to_ come in. Dat's my onies' drawback, Brer Jones.
Sometimes seem like when Heaven comes inter my heart I does crave ter
preach it in a song. Of cose, I does preach Heaven yit, but _I bleege
ter preach it f'om de Hell side, an' shoo 'em in_!"

There was, I thought, the suspicion of a twinkle lurking in the corners
of his eyes throughout his talk, but it was too obscure for me to
venture to interpret it by a responsive smile, and so the question was
put with entire seriousness when I said:

"And yet, Jordan, didn't I hear something of your going to an oculist
last summer?"

"Yas, sir. So I did. Dat's true." He laughed foolishly now.

"I did talk about goin' ter one o' deze heah occular-eye doctors las'
summer, _and I went once-t_, but I ain't nuver tol' nobody, an' you
mustn't say nothin' 'bout it, please, sir.

"But yer see, sir." He lowered his voice here to a confidential whisper.
"Yer see dat was on account o' de ladies. I was a widder-man den, an',
tell de trufe, my mixed glances was gettin' me in trouble. Yer know in
dealin' wid de ladies, yer don' keer how many glances you got, yer wants
ter use 'em _one at a time_. Why dey was a yaller lady up heah at de
crossroads wha' 'blongs ter my church who come purty nigh ter suein' me
in de co't-house, all on account o' one o' my side glances, an' all de
time, yer see, my _reel_ glance, hit was settled on Mis' White, wha'
sot in de middle pew--but in cose she warn't Mis' White den; she was de
Widder Simpson."

"And so you have been recently married," I asked; "and how does your
wife feel about the matter?

"Well, yer see, sir," he answered, laughing, "she can't say nothin',
'caze she's cross-eyed 'erse'f.

"An' lemme tell you some'h'n', boss." He lowered his tone again,