Of course this conversation was duly reported to the master and mistress, and called forth some strictures from Mrs. Marston on Lize’s attempted interference with the old man’s good work.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Eliza, that you ought.  After the estrangement of all this time if Uncle Simon can effect a reconciliation between the west and the east plantations, you ought not to lay a straw in his way.  I am sure there is more of a real Christian spirit in that than in shouting and singing for hours, and then coming out with your heart full of malice.  You need not laugh, Mr. Marston, you need not laugh at all.  I am very much in earnest, and I do hope that Uncle Simon will continue his ministrations on the other side.  If he wants to, he can have a room built in which to lead their worship.”

“But you do’ want him to leave us altogethah?”

“If you do not care to share your meeting-house with them, they can have one of their own.”

“But, look hyeah, Missy, dem Lousiany people, dey bad—­an’ dey hoodoo folks, an’ dey Cath’lics—­”

“Eliza!”

“‘Scuse me, Missy, chile, bless yo’ hea’t, you know I do’ mean no ha’m to you.  But somehow I do’ feel right in my hea’t ’bout Brothah Simon.”

“Never mind, Eliza, it is only evil that needs to be watched, the good will take care of itself.”

It was not one, nor two, nor three Sundays that Brother Simon was away from his congregation, but six passed before he was there again.  He was seen to be very busy tinkering around during the week, and then one Sunday he appeared suddenly in his pulpit.  The church nodded and smiled a welcome to him.  There was no change in him.  If anything he was more fiery than ever.  But, there was a change.  Lize, who was news-gatherer and carrier extraordinary, bore the tidings to her owners.  She burst into the big house with the cry of “Whut I tell you!  Whut I tell you!”

“Well, what now,” exclaimed both Mr. and Mrs. Marston.

“Didn’ I tell you ol’ Simon was up to some’p’n?”

“Out with it,” exclaimed her master, “out with it, I knew he was up to something, too.”

“George, try to remember who you are.”

“Brothah Simon come in chu’ch dis mo’nin’ an’ he ’scended up de pulpit—­”

“Well, what of that, are you not glad he is back?”

“Hol’ on, lemme tell you—­he ‘scended up de pu’pit, an’ ’menced his disco’se.  Well, he hadn’t no sooner got sta’ted when in walked one o’ dem brazen Lousiany wenches—­”

“Eliza!”

“Hol’ on, Miss M’ree, she walked in lak she owned de place, an’ flopped huhse’f down on de front seat.”

“Well, what if she did,” burst in Mrs. Marston, “she had a right.  I want you to understand, you and the rest of your kind, that that meeting-house is for any of the hands that care to attend it.  The woman did right.  I hope she’ll come again.”

“I hadn’ got done yit, Missy.  Jes’ ez soon ez de sehmont was ovah, whut mus’ Brothah Simon, de ‘zortah, min’ you, whut mus’ he do but come hoppin’ down f’om de pu’pit, an’ beau dat wench home!  ’Scorted huh clah ‘crost de plantation befo’ evahbody’s face.  Now whut you call dat?”