Digo was ready to assert before all the world, that one and all of these were under his special protection, and that whoever had anything to say to the contrary of any of these must expect to take issue with him.  Digo not only swallowed all his master’s opinions whole, but seemed to have the stomach of an ostrich in their digestion.  He believed everything, no matter what, the moment he understood that the Doctor held it.  He believed that Hebrew was the language of heaven,—­that the ten tribes of the Jews had reappeared in the North American Indians,—­that there was no such thing as disinterested benevolence, and that the doings of the unregenerate had some value,—­that slavery was a divine ordinance, and that Dr. H. was a radical, who did more harm than good,—­and, finally, that there never was so great a man as Dr. Stiles; and as Dr. Stiles belonged to him in the capacity of master, why, he, Digo, owned the greatest man in America.  Of course, as Candace held precisely similar opinions in regard to Dr. H., the two never could meet without a discharge of the opposite electricities.  Digo had, it is true, come ostensibly on a mere worldly errand from his mistress to Mrs. Marvyn, who had promised to send her some turkeys’ eggs, but he had inly resolved with himself that he would give Candace his opinion,—­that is, what Dr. Stiles had said at dinner the day before about Doctor H.’s Sunday’s discourse.  Dr. Stiles had not heard it, but Digo had.  He had felt it due to the responsibilities of his position to be present on so very important an occasion.

Therefore, after receiving his eggs, he opened hostilities by remarking, in a general way, that he had attended the Doctor’s preaching on Sunday, and that there was quite a crowded house.  Candace immediately began mentally to bristle her feathers like a hen who sees a hawk in the distance, and responded with decision:—­

“Den you heard sometin’, for once in your life!”

“I must say,” said Digo, with suavity, “dat I can’t give my ’proval to such sentiments.”

“More shame for you,” said Candace, grimly. “You a man, and not stan’ by your color, and flunk under to mean white ways!  Ef you was half a man, your heart would ‘a’ bounded like a cannon-ball at dat ar’ sermon.”

“Dr. Stiles and me we talked it over after church,” said Digo,—­“and de Doctor was of my ’pinion, dat Providence didn’t intend”——­

“Oh, you go long wid your Providence!  Guess, ef white folks had let us alone, Providence wouldn’t trouble us.”

“Well,” said Digo, “Dr. Stiles is clear dat dis yer’s a-fulfillin’ de prophecies and bringin’ in de fulness of de Gentiles.”

“Fulness of de fiddlesticks!” said Candace, irreverently.  “Now what a way dat ar’ is of talkin’!  Go look at one o’ dem ships we come over in,—­sweatin’ and groanin’,—­in de dark and dirt,—­cryin’ and dyin’,—­howlin’ for breath till de sweat run off us,—­livin’ and dead chained together,—­prayin’ like de rich man in hell for a drop o’ water to cool our tongues!  Call dat ar’ a-bringin’ de fulness of de Gentiles, do ye?  Ugh!”