WHEN we gave place to newcomers in the nursery, Lydia told to our successors the story of a dainty supper enjoyed years before by a Bulltown Swamp bear and a rattlesnake.

  And from time to time she, with cabalistic signs and enigmatic looks, invoked the aid of supernatural spirits to keep order. The most fiery temper would soon be quelled, as the youngster was ever eager to listen to her mysterious narrations. With Toby, she was convinced that all graveyards were full of live ghosts, popping up o' nights, like Jack o' Lanterns.

   Few negroes, in fact, would pass Midway cemetery, or any other one, after dark. Compelled to do so, they turned their pockets wrongside out.

   The alternate preachers at Pleasant Grove church in vain warned their congregations not to believe in ghosts; it was unworthy of a true Christian faith! At best, however, we are but frail mortals, prone to stumble. And so Parson Lee reflected one night when returning, on horseback, from a deathbed. As he reached Midway cemetery he reined in his weary horse, peering among the dimly-outlined graves. For the ensuing Sunday's sermon a suitable text recurred to his mind, and was audibly repeated: "Arise, ye righteous! Come to judgment!"

   To his horror, from behind a vaulted sepulchre, came a reply clear and distinct, "Yea, Lord, I'm coming." His mare, urged by rusty spurs, galloped home. But next Lord's day the preacher's text was not "Arise, ye righteous!"

   Lydia was not alone in her fondness for ghostly narrations; workers in cotton and corn-fields were constantly repeating new yarns, mingled with gossip. Interest seemed now to be centred on the frequency of Marlborough's visits to Professor Joe Lamont's place.

   James, being a fisherman, he could come to his wife only from Saturday until Monday.

   Marlborough accompanied his master on business trips, and as he was well versed in the news of the day, Lydia was often seen in close talk

   One great amusement to her was the arrival of negroes, bought at auction marts.

   As a girl, she had experienced the excitement, and now when three blasts of the plantation bugle assembled the field negroes for the ceremony of an introduction, she was always on the outskirts of the crowd with her "w'ite chilluns."

   Scipio, the foreman, conducted to the front Caesar, a fine-looking negro man, with his wife Molly and his daughter Peggy.

   As was his custom, my father then introduced them; adding, "Caesar, you and your family have come to work among us. I'm sure my people will give you a welcome." With a merry twinkle in his eyes, he turned to a group of young men: "Cracow, Stephney, Cyrus, you marriageable fellows, come forward. Let me present Peggy! It's about time we were having a marriage-feast, don't you think? I've a fatted calf, and I'm sure we would all enjoy a slice of wedding-cake."

   Peals of laughter ensued, and scores of fingers pointed in the direction of an overgrown youth, six feet in his shoes. "Massa, ain't you take notice how slick dat boy Cracow combs his wool?" asked one old man, "Don't you see him eb'ry

  "Cracow and Chloe, step to the front," said my father. "I'll decide how you'll suit before giving my consent."

   Cracow appeared, proudly touching his forelock; he looked wistfully in the direction of a group of women; but Chloe was nowhere to be seen: she was crouching behind her companion.

  "You have my blessing, Cracow," continued my father. "Remember, women need a bit of coaxing. Scipio, give Caesar and his family the double house, number twenty-five."

   A small, thickset man, with wife and three young children, was next announced.

  "Machiah, you are now on a plantation where kindness will be shown you. I bought you, determined to allow you a chance to turn over a new leaf and so make a man of yourself, and I'm sure these, my people, will help you. Do your work, and you'll find no cause for complaint here."

  "Dat you won't," happy voices sang out. "If you neber had a good master in Floridy, you's got one now!"

  "Thank you!" And, with a smile, my father lifted his hat, showing a noble white forehead.

  Machiah's scowl turned to a grin: "My new

   Again a chorus of voices spoke: "Do your work, brudder, an' you'll hav' no sore back on Green Forest."

   With uncovered head Frank, noting his opportunity, bowed to his master; and then, turning to Machiah, he pointed to Peter's crowing cock. "Come to dat chu'ch, brudder, deir de Holy Speret teches de innards. I's see lots of niggers no 'count tel de Speret flies at dem, sayin' Stop! sinner! stop!"

   Lydia and "her children" huddled together for protection from his startling words and gestures, "Stop, I say. Sinner, you may dance up dat broad road, but dose lights is a blazin' from a volcano, an' w'en it bu'st out, 'you'll hurry an' scurry only ter fall ober de Niag'ra where t'under roars an' de sun of rej'icin' is gone down, de moon turned ter blood. In dat chu'ch a sweet word is callin', 'Don't be fread! com' ter me. I de Lord kin still de storm. Peace be yourn.'"

   The crowd responded, "Amen! Amen!" listening so attentively as not to note the suppressed smile on their master's face, who turned to Scipio, saying, "Give Machiah house number twenty."

   A thrifty woman, who, on Sunday nights, occasionally treated her family to a fried fowl, occupied the adjoining cabin.

   One Monday morning she lodged her complaint: "Massa, de young rooster was done ter a turn, an' I stepped out de front dooe ter call Bob an' de chilluns; w'en I goes ter sarve up dat chicken, dey was only de empty fryin' pan a frizzlin'. We track de grease outside de back dooe an' nobody is eat dat fowl but dat no 'count niggar Kiah."

   In truth, it was a week before Machiah was seen, his wife declaring she didn't know where he had gone.

   When the store-room was opened to give weekly rations, on Saturday night, Machiah came in his turn. "Massa," he said, "please, sah, scuse me dis time; I couldn't help it, sah. But if you'll scuse me I is neber goin' in de woods ag'in."

   Without a word of reproof, his master looked at him. With a kindly but troubled face, he then turned to Scipio, saying, "Give him his meat, peas, potatoes, and corn-meal. I promised to allow him a fair chance to do better."

   However, scarcely a day thereafter but some complaint arose and was lodged against Machiah.

   Frank, as watchman, strove to do his duty, and prayed earnestly at the weekly meetings: "O

   From bench to bench rose "Amen! Amen!"

   Scipio fingered his "cotton planter," strapped across his shoulders,—an insignia of his rank!

   Machiah evidently felt the jeers of his fellow-labourers more than he did his master's reproofs; and by a mere accident, a new turn was given to the usual mode of punishment.

   Three blasts of the bugle brought the people together again, many having in their hands long switches. With a tone of sadness my father spoke:

  "Stand to the front, those of you who have been cutting my young trees. Scipio, file them into two lines, six feet apart."

   Lydia wondered whatever was to pay.

   Walking up to Machiah, my father continued, "Here are twenty men and women who can prove that you, Machiah, have stolen from them; and, though your master admitted to me that you would occasionally sleep in the woods, I brought you to this comfortable home, believing kindness would make you a better man. Frank has urged you to go to church, and offered prayer for you,

  "Massa, do lick me yourself! Let Uncle Scipio t'rash me; but don't let dem niggars hit me."

  "No. It's from them you have stolen. Pull your jacket off. If this does no good, then I must sell you."

   The march began between bristling switches, Hetty's birch whistling to the tune of a frying fowl, the bones of which had been found under the culprit's bed.

   As father turned to go, he said, "Don't let me sound another bugle call for undress parade."

  "Massa, you'll not blow no bugle for me ag'in, caise I is done made up my mind fer turn ober dat new leaf, an' I is goin' ter chu'ch, sah."

  " All right; that's the way to talk! Do your work and stay at home, leaving other folks' chickens and eggs alone, and you'll be treated kindly."

   In giving his usual report some weeks after, Frank said:

  "Massa, de Speret is touch Kiah wid de p'int of he wing. De odder night de bell hadn't done clappin' when dat runaway nigger walk in de sacred edifice, an' ter-day at Pleasant Grove chu'ch Parson Lee put Kiah under de creek water, some folks say two inches deeper dan odders. He spit de water out he mouth, shoutin', Bless de Lord, my sin is washed away! Bless de Lord an' my good massa.' Parson Lee say de word dat dem what turn dey back on sin trustin' de Lord, is neber gwine ter be disapp'inted. Last week, when dem boys laugh at Kiah, askin' if he ain't tired sleepin' in a house, an' was fowl-meat sweet, I speaks a kind word: 'Brudder, don't mind what dem rampant sinners say, hold your mind 'umble-like, pray de Lord, an' he'll keep you in de narrow path. I's hear dat de debil tempted de Lord heself; but he plant he foot on de rock, an' no wind Satan could blow could move him from de firm foundation.' Ain't dat so, massa?"

  "Yes. The Bible says if we serve the Lord with an honest heart, He will not forsake even the vilest sinner. The prodigal son, you know, was met by his father, who killed for him the fatted calf, although he had spent all his money in riotous living. Frank, I have noticed you preach too much about hell-fire. Next Sunday take for your text, Love—'God is love.' Come

  "T'ank you, massa, fer de good cheer. It's like de oil flowin' ober Aaron's beard, a reachin' ter de hem of he coat. Sometimes I wishes I could spell. Mars Flem' is teach me c-a-t cat, r-a-t rat, but my head gits suffused. I says, 'Frank, you's got a good memery, 'pend on dat.' Bro' John's studyin', but after he's been bowin' ober de book, he slams de speller on de floor. 'Boys,' says he, 'you may talk 'bout readin' an' spellen, but it's de hardest day's work my han's is sot ter dis long time; de sweat rolls; hoein' in de August sun don't bring out sech suffusion. Boys, you may hav' de fedder an' speller, giv' me de ax an' hoe.'"

   My father continued: "There's another thing, Frank. When you preach of love, you must show it in your life, keeping your own lamp trimmed and burning. Sinners may often be led with a web of kindness, when they couldn't be driven with scourges. Tell your people of green bay trees, and of the cedars of Lebanon, where Christ as a Shepherd tends His sheep. Have you never seen old Sawney lead my flocks from one pasture to another with a handful of salt? I wonder if you really love to preach?"

  "Massa, it's my glorification ter preach; ain't dere a word what says scatter de seed broadcast, fling it ober de great congregation; a stray bird may pick up a grain or two. Some takes root in shaller groun', an' jes as you is 'bout ter cut down dat yaller blade, de spring rains comes, dat corn pops up, an' fore you knows it dere is de shock; den de ripe corn in de ear. It's so wid dat runaway nigger: he seed de love in your eye when you tell Uncle Scipio ter give him meat, peas, potatoes, an' meal, aldo not a lick of work had he done. You showed him de handful of salt,—an' den between dose line of switches you cast a net round 'bout de camp of Israel; caise dat bery night he come ter de Gospel house o' prayer. From dat time we giv' Kiah de right hand o' fellowship, an' neber ceased ter pray dat he would git into de ark of safety. Las' Sunday when I ask all penitents ter come forward, he walk plumb ter de front of de pulpit an' drop on he knees. A hallaluyah rise in de air. De angel Gabriel must a heard de shouts of rej'icin.' I had been holdin' forth a solid hour. Seein' me dry in de mouth, de chu'ch sisterens sing out, 'Pull fer de shore, brudders, pull.' Folks don't count much on 'omens in chu'ch, caise de Bible says it's not fer 'omens to speak aloud in de house of God; but I notices dey is always ten in de seats ter eb'ry

  "My speret gits low when dey comes in late. Satan whispers, 'Set down, Frank, dey is los' de early dew; it's no use ter preach any longer.'"

  "Surely you don't give up so easily? Cast your bread upon the waters! Perhaps, after many days, it may return to you, and be sweeter than the honeycomb.'"

  "Dat's so, massa. I's goin' ter try de new gospel you tell me 'bout. I'll fling de flag o' love ober my congregation an' see how many will 'list under de banner."

  "Tell your people also, Frank, how 'God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son to die for their salvation.'"

  "It's so, massa. Folks don't like ter hear 'bout fire an' parched tongues; dey likes a easier road, what don't 'quire hard rowin'. It ware so wid Kiah. Bro' Jack an' me used ter warn him dat he was standin' on de walls of Jericho. When de t'ird blast blow, look out, brudder, dat you ain't civered with brick an' mortar. But Kiah

  "When we fling him dis word, 'Come ter me in de ark of safety, come, if you's tired, I'll give you rest, caise I de Lord is done all de work,' den he sing out, ' Here, Lord, is me.'"

  "Frank, it was a kind word that won him at last. And so, in the same way, I try to make my people love rne. We want no Uncle Toms, chained and bleeding, on Green Forest. I would pull down every fence, turn cattle to graze in the grain-fields, rather than have my work done with Scipio's "cotton planter" constantly in use. In your families there are times when punishment becomes a duty to your children. Riseburg has its court-house and police; public offenders are there dealt with by the law. On my plantation I must fill these positions, and it is not always easy to keep peace and order. You remember how my good and faithful coachman came near killing the mason Marmaduke? We must all exercise patience, keeping our hearts right before God."

  "Dat's so, massa. No work is worth doin' if de soul ain't dere. No hallelujahs, no songs, kin rise ter de heav'nly choir. Don't git discouraged,

  "Thank you, Frank. When the Lord sits upon His Throne, judging if there is a crown for you and me, we will cast it at His feet, saying, 'Not unto us, not unto us, but unto Him who gave His life that we might live.'"

  "Dat we will, massa, dat we will! Praise de Lord; glory, hallelujah!"