gained upon the singer he caught more clearly the air and the song.

"_Oh, de Ark hit came ter res'
On-de-hill,
Oh, de Ark hit came ter res'
On-de-hill,
En' dar ole Noah stood,
En' spread his han's abroad,
Er sacri-fice ter-Gawd
On-de-hill._"

Nicholas quickened his pace into a run and, in a moment, saw the
stooping figure of an old negro toiling up the red clay hillside, a
staff in his hand and a bag of meal on his shoulder. In the vivid light
of the sunset his stature was exaggerated in size, giving him an
appearance at once picturesque and pathetic--softening his rugged
outline and magnifying the distortion of age.

As he ascended the gradual incline he planted his staff firmly in the
soil, shifting his bag from side to side and uttering inaudible grunts
in the pauses of his song.

"_En' dar, mid flame en smoke,
De great Jehovah s-poke.
En' awful thunder b-roke,
On-de-hill._"

"Uncle Ish!" called the boy sharply. The old man lowered the bag from
his shoulder and turned slowly round.