his hands. There
was evidently something more that he wanted to say. He had not come to
exchange commonplaces with his master about age or its ailments.

"Well, what is it now, Uncle Simon?" the master asked, heeding the
servant's embarrassment, "I know you've come up to ask or tell me
something. Have any of your converts been backsliding, or has Buck
been misbehaving again?"

"No, suh, de converts all seem to be stan'in' strong in de faif, and
Buck, he actin' right good now."

"Doesn't Lize bring your meals regular, and cook them good?"

"Oh, yes, suh, Lize ain' done nuffin'. Dey ain' nuffin' de mattah at
de quahtahs, nuffin' 't'al."

"Well, what on earth then--"

"Hol' on, Mas', hol' on! I done tol' you dey ain' nuffin' de mattah
'mong de people, an' I ain' come to 'plain 'bout nuffin'; but--but--I
wants to speak to you 'bout somefin' mighty partic'ler."

"Well, go on, because it will soon be time for you to be getting down
to the meeting-house to exhort the hands."

"Dat's jes' what I want to speak 'bout, dat 'zortin'."

"Well, you've been doing it for a good many years now."

"Dat's de very idee, dat's in my haid now. Mas' Gawge, huccume you
read me so nigh right?"

"Oh, that's not reading anything, that's just truth. But what do you
mean, Uncle Simon, you don't mean to say that you want to resign. Why
what would your old wife think if she was living?"

"No, no, Mas' Gawge, I don't ezzactly want to 'sign, but I'd jes' lak
to have a few Sundays off."

"A few Sundays off! Well, now, I do believe that you are crazy. What
on earth put that into your head?"

"Nuffin', Mas' Gawge, I wants to be away f'om my Sabbaf labohs fu' a
little while, dat's all."

"Why, what are the hands going to do for some one to exhort them on
Sunday. You know they've got to shout or burst, and it used to be your
delight to get them stirred up until all the back field was ringing."

"I do' say dat I ain' gwine try an' do dat some mo', Mastah, min' I
do' say dat. But in de mean time I's got somebody else to tek my
place, one dat I trained up in de wo'k right undah my own han'. Mebbe
he ain' endowed wif de sperrit as I is, all men cain't be gifted de
same way, but dey ain't no sputin' he is powahful. Why, he can handle
de Scriptures wif bof han's, an' you kin hyeah him prayin' fu' two
miles."

"And you want to put this wonder in your place?"

"Yes, suh, fu' a while, anyhow."

"Uncle Simon, aren't you losing your religion?"