nothing unusual was about to occur. He jumps to the ground, heated
with passion.

"Ho, here!" he shouts in at the door; "don't you see the house is coming
down?"

Upon which the deaf old grandfather rises in his corner, and pulls off
his cap, with the usual salutation, "Sarvant, Sah," etc., and sitting
down again, relapses into a doze immediately.

Frisbie is furious. "What you 'bout here?" he cries, in an alarming
voice.

"Bless you, Sir," answers the old woman, over a tub, "don't you see?
We's doon' a little washin', Sir. Didn't you never see nobody wash
afore?" And she proceeds with her rubbing.

"The house will be tumbling on you in ten minutes!"

"You think so? Now I don't, Mr. Frisbie! This 'ere house a'n't gwine to
tumble down this mornin', I know. The Lord 'll look out for that, I
guess. Look o' these 'ere childern! look o' me! look o' my ole father
there, more'n a hunderd year ole! What's a-gwine to 'come on us all, if
you pull the house down? Can't git another right away; no team to tote
our things off with; an' how 'n the world we can do 'thout no house this
winter I can't see. So I've jes' concluded to trust the Lord, an' git
out my washin'." Rub, rub, rub!

Frisbie grows purple. "Are you fools?" he inquires.

"Yes, _I_ am! I'm Fessenden's." And the honest, staring youth comes
forward to see what is wanted.

This unexpected response rather pricks the wind-bag of the man's zeal.
He looks curiously at the boy, who follows him out of the house.

"Stephen, did you ever see that fellow before?"

"Yes, Sir; he's the one come to our house Saturday night, and I showed
round to the Judge's."

"Are you the fellow?"

"Yes," says Fessenden's. "There wouldn't any of you let me into your
houses, neither!"

"Wouldn't the people I sent you to let you in?"

"No!"

"Hear that, Stephen! your philanthropical Gingerford!--And what did you
do?"

"I didn't do nothin',--only laid down to die, I did."

"But you didn't die, did you?"

"No! This man he come along, and brought me here."

"Here? to the niggers?"

"Yes! You wouldn't have me, so they took me, and dried me, and fed
me,--good folks, niggers!" Fessenden's bore this simple testimony.

What is it makes the Frisbie color heighten so? Is it Gentleman Bill's
quiet smile, as he stands by and hears this conversation?

"And you have been here ever since?" says the man, in a humbler key, and
with a milder look, than before.

"Yes! It's a r'al good pl