“Can’t tell you, mas’r, whar I got him; but he don’t stop my hoein’ corn, for’ true.”

Franconia had observed Harry’s tractableness, and heard him wish for a Bible, that he might learn to read from it,—­and she had secretly supplied him with one.  Two years Harry and Daddy Bob had spent hours of the night in communion over it; the latter had learned to read from it, the former had imbibed its great truths.  The artless girl had given it to them in confidence, knowing its consolatory influences and that they, with a peculiar firmness in such cases, would never betray her trust.  Bob would not have refused his master any other request; but he would never disclose the secret of Miss Franconia giving it.

“Well, my old faithful,” said Marston, “we want you to put the sprit into Harry; we want to hear a sample of his preaching.  Now, Harry, you can begin; give it big eloquence, none of the new fashion preaching, give us the old plantation break-down style.”

The negro’s countenance assumed a look indicative of more than his lips dare speak.  Looking upward pensively, he replied,—­“Can’t do dat, mas’r; he ain’t what do God justice; but there is something in de text,—­where shall I take ’em from?”

“Ministers should choose their own; I always do,” interrupted Deacon Rosebrook.

Daddy Bob, touching Harry on the arm, looks up innocently, interposes his knowledge of Scripture.  “D’ar, Harry, I tells you what text to gin ’em.  Gin ’em dat one from de fourt’ chapter of Ephes:  dat one whar de Lor’ say:—­’Great mas’r led captivity captive, and gin gifts unto men.’  And whar he say, ’Till we come unto a unity of the faith of the knowledge of the son of God unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ; that we be no more children tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the slight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lay in wait to deceive.’”

“And you tink dat ’ll do,—­eh, Daddy?” Harry replies, looking at the old man, as if to say, were he anything but a slave he would follow the advice.

“Den, dars t’ oder one, away ’long yonder, where ’e say in Isaiah, fifty-eight chapter—­’Wherefore have we fasted, say they, and thou seest not?  Wherefore have we afflicted our soul, and thou takest no knowledge?  Behold ye fast for strife and debate, and to smite with the fist of wickedness.”  The old man seemed perfectly at home on matters of Scripture; he had studied it in stolen moments.

The young Englishman seemed surprised at such a show of talent.  He saw the humble position of the old man, his want of early instruction, and his anxiety to be enlightened.  “How singular!” he ejaculated, “to hear property preach, and know so much of the Bible, too!  People in my country would open their eyes with surprise.”  The young man had been educated in an atmosphere where religion was prized-where it was held as a sacred