"Oh, I don't take much stock in white folks' religion," said Robert,
laughing carelessly.

"The way," said Tom Anderson, "dat some of dese folks cut their cards
yere, I think dey'll be as sceece in hebben as hen's teeth. I think wen
some of dem preachers brings de Bible 'round an' tells us 'bout mindin
our marsters and not stealin' dere tings, dat dey preach to please de
white folks, an' dey frows coleness ober de meetin'."

"An' I," said Aunt Linda, "neber did belieb in dem Bible preachers. I
yered one ob dem sayin' wen he war dyin', it war all dark wid him. An'
de way he treated his house-girl, pore thing, I don't wonder dat it war
dark wid him."

"O, I guess," said Robert, "that the Bible is all right, but some of
these church folks don't get the right hang of it."

"May be dat's so," said Aunt Linda. "But I allers wanted to learn how to
read. I once had a book, and tried to make out what war in it, but ebery
time my mistus caught me wid a book in my hand, she used to whip my
fingers. An' I couldn't see ef it war good for white folks, why it
warn't good for cullud folks."

"Well," said Tom Anderson, "I belieb in de good ole-time religion. But
arter dese white folks is done fussin' and beatin' de cullud folks, I
don't want 'em to come talking religion to me. We used to hab on our
place a real Guinea man, an' once he made ole Marse mad, an' he had him
whipped. Old Marse war trying to break him in, but dat fellow war spunk
to de backbone, an' when he 'gin talkin' to him 'bout savin' his soul
an' gittin' to hebbin, he tole him ef he went to hebbin an' foun' he war