singing voice, "Whut you laughin' at? Yes, I's popped de question, an'
she says 'Yes,' an' long 'bout a yeah f'om now you kin all 'spec' a'
invitation." This was a formal announcement. A shout arose from the
happy-go-lucky people, who sorrowed alike in each other's sorrows, and
joyed in each other's joys. They sat down at a table, and their
health was drunk in cups of cider and persimmon beer.

Over in the corner Mam' Henry mumbled over her pipe, "Wha'd I tell
you? wha'd I tell you?" and Aunt Sophy replied, "Hit's de pa'able of
de mo'nin' stahs."

"Don't talk to me 'bout no mo'nin' stahs," the mammy snorted; "Gawd
jes' fitted dey voices togeddah, an' den j'ined dey hea'ts. De mo'nin'
stahs ain't got nothin' to do wid it."

"Mam' Henry," said Aunt Sophy, impressively, "you's a' oldah ooman den
I is, an' I ain' sputin' hit; but I say dey done 'filled Scripter
'bout de mo'nin' stahs; dey's done sung deyse'ves togeddah."

The old woman sniffed.

The next Sunday at meeting some one got the start of Gideon, and began
a new hymn. It ran:

"At de ma'ige of de Lamb, oh Lawd,
God done gin His 'sent.
Dey dressed de Lamb all up in white,
God done gin His 'sent.
Oh, wasn't dat a happy day,
Oh, wasn't dat a happy day, Good Lawd,