While this conversation is going on in the veranda, sundry aged members of negro families—­aunties and mammies—­are passing backwards and forwards in front of the house, casting curious glances at the affection exhibited for the new preacher by “Miss Franconia.”  The effect is a sort of reconciliation of the highly aristocratic objections they at first interposed against his reception.  “Mus’ be somebody bigger dan common nigger preacher; wudn’t cotch Miss Frankone spoken wid ’um if ’um warn’t,” says Dad Timothy’s Jane, who is Uncle Absalom’s wife, and, in addition to having six coal-black children, as fat and sleek as beavers, is the wise woman of the cabins, around whom all the old veteran mammies gather for explanations upon most important subjects.  In this instance she is surrounded by six or seven grave worthies, whose comical faces add great piquancy to the conclave.  Grandmumma Dorothy, who declares that she is grandmother to she don’t know how much little growing-up property, will venture every grey hair in her head-which is as white as the snows of Nova Scotia-that he knows a deal o’ things about the gospel, or he wouldn’t have missus for such a close acquaintance.  “But his shirt ain’t just da’h fashon fo’h a ’spectable minister ob de gospel,” she concludes, with profound wisdom evinced in her measured nod.

Aunt Betsy, than whose face none is blacker, or more comically moulded, will say her word; but she is very profound withal.  “Reckon how tain’t de clo’ what make e’ de preacher tink good” (Aunty’s lip hangs seriously low the while).  “Lef missus send some calico fum town, and dis old woman son fix ’um into shirt fo’h him,” she says, with great assurance of her sincerity.

Harry-Mister Harry, as he is to be called by the people-finds himself comfortably at home; the only drawback, if such it may be called, existing in the unwillingness exhibited on the part of one of the overseers to his being provided with apartments in the basement of the house instead of one of the cabins.  This, however, is, by a few conciliatory words from Mrs. Rosebrook, settled to the satisfaction of all.  Harry has supper provided for him in one of the little rooms downstairs, which he is to make his Study, and into which he retires for the night.

When daylight has departed, and the very air seems hanging in stillness over the plantation, a great whispering is heard in Dad Daniel’s cabin-the head quarters, where grave matters of state, or questions affecting the moral or physical interests of the plantation, are discussed, and Dad Daniel’s opinion held as most learned-the importance of which over the other cabins is denoted by three windows, one just above the door being usually filled with moss or an old black hat.  Singular enough, on approaching the cabin it is discovered that Daniel has convoked a senate of his sable brethren, to whom he is proposing a measure of great importance.  “Da’h new precher, gemen! is one ob yer own colur-no more