too, from his lop-sided old white hat to every fold of his
clothing, which seemed to hang about him just as if it would
as lieve be off as on. I begged Preston to hail him and ask
him the question about church going, which sorely troubled me.
Preston was unwilling and resisted.

"What do you want me to do that for, Daisy?"

"Because aunt Gary told Miss Pinshon that we have to drive six
miles to go to church. Do ask him where they go!"

"They don't go _anywhere_, Daisy," said Preston impatiently;
"they don't care a straw about it, either. All the church they
care about is when they get together in somebody's house and
make a great muss."

"Make a muss!" said I.

"Yes; a regular muss; shouting and crying and having what they
call a good time. That's what some of them do; but I'll wager
if I were to ask him about going to church, this fellow here
would not know what I mean."

This did by no means quiet me. I insisted that Preston should
stop the man; and at last he did. I The fellow turned and came
back towards us, ducking his old white hat. His face was just
like the rest of him: there was no expression in it but an
expression of limp submissiveness.

"Sambo, your mistress wants to speak to you."