te an opinion of her own. This was Lize, who did about
the quarters and cooked the meals of the older servants who were no
longer in active service.

It was just at the dinner hour that she came hurrying up to the "big
house," and with the freedom of an old and privileged retainer went
directly to the dining-room.

"Look hyeah, Mis' M'ree," she exclaimed, without the formality of
prefacing her remarks, "I wants to know whut's de mattah wif Brothah
Simon--what mek him ac' de way he do?"

"Why, I do not know, Eliza, what has Uncle Simon been doing?"

"Why, some o' you all mus' know, lessn' he couldn' 'a' done hit. Ain'
he ax you nuffin', Marse Gawge?"

"Yes, he did have some talk with me."

"Some talk! I reckon he did have some talk wif somebody!"

"Tell us, Lize," Mr. Marston said, "what has Uncle Simon done?"

"He done brung somebody else, dat young Merrit darky, to oc'py his
pu'pit. He in'juce him, an' 'en he say dat he gwine be absent a few
Sundays, an' 'en he tek hissef off, outen de chu'ch, widout even
waitin' fu' de sehmont."

"Well, didn't you have a good sermon?"

"It mought 'a' been a good sehmont, but dat ain' whut I ax you. I want
to know whut de mattah wif Brothah Simon."

"Why, he told me that the man he put over you was one of the most
powerful kind, warranted to make you shout until the last bench was
turned over."

"Oh, some o' dem, dey shouted enough, dey shouted dey fill. But dat
ain' whut I's drivin' at yit. Whut I wan' 'o know, whut mek Brothah
Simon do dat?"

"Well, I'll tell you, Lize," Marston began, but his wife cut him off.

"Now, George," she said, "you shall not trifle with Eliza in that
manner." Then turning to the old servant, she said: "Eliza, it means
nothing. Do not trouble yourself about it. You know Uncle Simon is
old; he has been exhorting for you now for many years, and he needs a
little rest these Sundays. It is getting toward midsummer, and it is
warm and wearing work to preach as Uncle Simon does."

Lize stood still, with an incredulous and unsatisfied look on her
face. After a while she said, dubiously shaking her head:

"Huh uh! Miss M'ree, dat may 'splain t'ings to you, but hit ain' mek
'em light to me yit."

"Now, Mrs. Marston"--began her husband, chuckling.

"Hush, I tell you, George. It's really just as I tell you, Eliza, the
old man is tired and needs rest!"

Again the old woman shook her head, "Huh uh," she said, "ef you'd' a'
seen him gwine lickety