Here he made a lunge at the offender.  Joe attempted to escape, but, getting his feet entangled in the superabundant coat-skirts, fell, screaming as if he were about to be killed.

“Good enough for you!” said his mother.  “I wish you would get hurt!”

“What you wish that for?” cried the old grandmother, rushing to the rescue, brandishing a long iron spoon with which she had been stirring the gruel.  “Can’t nobody never have no fun in this house?  Bless us! what ’ud we do, if ’t wa’n’t for Joey, to make us laugh and keep our sperits up?  Jest you stan’ back now, Bill!—­’d ruther you’d strike me ’n see ye hit that ’ere boy oncet!”

“He must let my things be, then,” said Bill, who couldn’t see much sport in the disrespectful use made of his wearing apparel.—­“Here, you! surrender my property!”

“Laws! you be quiet!  You’ll git yer cut agin.  Only jest look at him now, he’s so blessed cunning!”

For Joe, reassured by his grandmother, had stopped screaming, and gone to tailoring.  He sat cross-legged on one of the unlucky coat-skirts, and pulled the other up on his lap, for his work.  Then he got an imaginary thread, and, putting his fingers together, screwed up his mouth, and looked over the spectacles, sharpening his sight,—­

  “Like an old tailor to his needle’s eye.”

Then he began to stitch, to the infinite disgust of Bill, who was sensitive touching his vocation.

“I do declare, father! how you can smile, seeing that child carrying on in this shape, is beyond my comprehension!”

“Joseph!” said Mr. Williams, good-naturedly, “I guess that’ll do for to-night.  Come, I want my spectacles.”

He had sat down to his book again.  He was a slow, thoughtful, easy, cheerful man, whom suffering and much humiliation had rendered very mild and patient, if not quite broken-spirited.  His voice was indulgent and gentle, with that mellow richness of tone peculiar to the negro.  After he had spoken, the laughter subsided; and Joe, impressed by the quiet paternal authority, quickly devised means to obey without appearing to do so.  For it is not so much obedience, as the manifestation of obedience, that is repugnant to human nature,—­not in children only, but in grown folks as well.

Joe disguised his compliance in this way.  He got up, took off the beggar’s hat, put the spectacles into it, holding his hand on a rip in the crown to keep them from falling through, and passed it around, walking solemnly in his brother’s abused coat.

“I’m Deacon Todd,” said he, “taking up a collection to buy Gentleman Bill a new cut:  gunter make a missionary of him!”

He passed the hat to the women and the girls, all of whom pretended to put in something.

“I ha’n’t got nothin’!” said Fessenden’s, when it came to him; “I’m real sorry I but I’ll give my hat!”—­earnest as could be.

When the hat came to Mr. Williams, he quietly put in his hand and took out his glasses.