“Yes, it surely is a school; any one with an education would know that.  Just look!—­ain’t you glad yo’ Uncle Bob slicked you up some, now you see what them ladies has done fo’ to make this place tidy?”

Shy children from the pine woods, big brothers with little sisters and big sisters with little brothers, drifted out of the encircling forest.  Coincident with the arrival of the last of these stragglers Mrs. Ferris and Miss Malroy appeared, attended by a colored groom.

“It was so good of you to come, Mr. Yancy!  The children won’t feel so shy with you here,” said Mrs. Ferris warmly, as Yancy assisted her to dismount, an act of courtesy that called for his finest courage.

Mrs. Ferris’ missionary spirit manifested itself agreeably enough on the whole.  When she had ranged her flock in a solemn-faced row on the benches, she began by explaining why Sunday was set apart for a day of rest, touching but lightly on its deeper significance as a day of worship as well; then she read certain chapters from the Bible, finishing with the story of David, a narrative that made a deep impression upon Yancy, comfortably seated in the doorway.

“Can’t you tell the children a story, Mr. Yancy?  Something about their own neighborhood I think would be nice, something with a moral,” the pleasant earnest voice f Mrs. Ferris roused the Scratch Hiller from his meditations.

“Yes, ma’am, I reckon I can tell ’em a story.”  He stood up, filling the doorway with his bulk.  “I can tell you-all a story about this here house,” he said, addressing himself to the children.  He smiled happily.  “You-all don’t need to look so solemn, a body ain’t going to snap at you!  This house are the old Blount cabin, but the Blounts done moved away from it years and years ago.  They’re down Fayetteville way now.  There was a passel of ’em and they was about as common a lot of white folks as you’d find anywhere; I know, because I come to a dance here once and Dave Blount called me a liar right in this very room.”  He paused, that this impressive fact might disseminate itself.  Hannibal slid forward in his seat, his earnest little face bent on Yancy.

“Why did he call you a liar, Uncle Bob?” he demanded.

“Well, I scarcely know, Nevvy, but that’s what he done, and he stuck some words in front of it that ain’t fitten I should repeat.”

Miss Malroy’s cheeks had become very red, and Mrs. Ferris refused to meet her eye, while the children were in a flutter of pleased expectancy.  They felt the wholly contemporary interest of Yancy’s story; he was dealing with forms of speech which prevailed and were usually provocative of consequences more or less serious.  He gave them a wide, sunny smile.

“When Dave Blount called me that, I struck out fo’ home.”  At this surprising turn in the narrative the children looked their disgust, and Mrs. Ferris shot Betty a triumphant glance.  “Yes, ma’am, I struck out across the fields fo’ home, I didn’t wish to hear no mo’ of that loose kind of talk.  When I got home I found my old daddy setting up afo’ the fire, and he says, ’You come away early, son.’  I told him what Dave Blount had called me and he says, ’You acted like a gentleman, Bob, with all them womenfolks about."’