ter die; dey jes er dancin' an' er cavortin' ev'y night, an' dey'll git
lef', mun, wheneber dat angel blow his horn. I tell you what I ben er
stud'n, Brer Dan'l. I ben er stud'n dat what's de matter wid deze
niggers is, dat de chil'en ain't riz right. Yer know de Book hit sez ef
yer raise de chil'en, like yer want 'em ter go, den de ole uns dey won't
part fum hit; an', sar, ef de Lord spars me tell nex' Sunday, I 'low ter
ax marster ter lemme teach er Sunday-school in de gin-house fur de
chil'en."

Major Waldron heartily consented to Uncle Bob's proposition, and had
the gin-house all swept out for him, and had the carpenter to make him
some rough benches. And when the next Sunday evening came around, all of
the little darkies, with their heads combed and their Sunday clothes on,
assembled for the Sunday-school. The white children begged so hard to go
too, that finally Mammy consented to take them. So when Uncle Snake-bit
Bob walked into the gin-house, their eager little faces were among those
of his pupils. "Now, you all sot down," said Uncle Bob, "an' 'have
yerse'fs till I fix yer in er line." Having arranged them to his
satisfaction, he delivered to them a short address, setting forth the
object of the meeting, and his intentions concerning them. "Chil'en," he
began, "I fotch yer hyear dis ebenin fur ter raise yer like yer ought
ter be riz. De folks deze days is er gwine ter strucshun er dancin' an'
er pickin' uv banjers an' er singin' uv reel chunes an' er cuttin' up uv
ev'y kin' er dev'lment. I ben er watchin' 'em; an', min' yer, when de
horn hit soun' fur de jes' ter rise, half de niggers gwine ter be wid de
onjes'. An' I 'low ter myse'f dat I wuz gwine ter try ter save de
chil'en. I gwine ter pray fur yer, I gwine ter struc yer, an' I gwine do
my bes' ter lan' yer in hebn. Now yer jes pay tenshun ter de strucshun I
gwine give yer--dat's all I ax uv yer--an' me an' de Lord we gwine do de
res'."