fe. He kept his face straight as he addressed her. "Mrs. Marston,
Manette's hand has been proposed for."

"George!"

"The Rev. Simon Marston has this moment come and solemnly laid his
heart at my feet as proxy for Manette."

"He shall not have her, he shall not have her!" exclaimed the lady,
rising angrily.

"But remember, Mrs. Marston, it will keep her coming to meeting."

"I do not care; he is an old hypocrite, that is what he is."

"Think, too, of what a noble work he is doing. It brings about a
reconciliation between the east and west plantations, for which we
have been hoping for years. You really oughtn't to lay a straw in his
way."

"He's a sneaking, insidious, old scoundrel."

"Such poor encouragement from his mistress for a worthy old man, who
only needs rest!"

"George!" cried Mrs. Marston, and she sank down in tears, which turned
to convulsive laughter as her husband put his arm about her and
whispered, "He is showing the true Christian spirit. Don't you think
we'd better call Manette and see if she consents? She is one of his
lambs, you know."

"Oh, George, George, do as you please. If the horrid girl consents, I
wash my hands of the whole affair."

"You know these old men have been learning such a long while."

By this time Mrs. Marston was as much amused as her husband. Manette
was accordingly called and questioned. The information was elicited
from her that she loved "Brothah Simon" and wished to marry him.

"'Love laughs at age,'" quoted Mr. Marston again when the girl had
been dismissed. Mrs. Marston was laughingly angry, but speechless for
a moment. Finally she said: "Well, Manette seems willing, so there is
nothing for us to do but to consent, although, mind you, I do not
approve of this foolish marriage, do you hear?"

After a while the old man returned for his verdict. He took it calmly.
He had expected it. The disparity in the years of him and his
betrothed did not seem to strike his consciousness at all. He only
grinned.

"Now look here, Uncle Simon," said his master, "I want you to tell me
how you, an old, bad-looking, half-dead darky won that likely young
girl."

The old man closed one eye and smiled.

"Mastah, I don' b'lieve you looks erroun' you," he said. "Now, 'mongst
white folks, you knows a preachah 'mongst de ladies is mos' nigh
i'sistible, but 'mongst col'ed dey ain't no pos'ble way to git erroun'
de gospel man w'en he go ahuntin' fu' anything."

MR. CORNEL