"How is that, Harry?" interrupted the deacon.

"Why, Mas'r Deacon, ye sees how when ye preaches de good tings ob de
Lor', ye mus'nt 'dulge in 'e wicked tings on 'arth. A'h done want
say Mas'r Elder do dem tings-but 'e seem to me t' warn't right wen
'e join de wickedness ob de world, and preach so ebery Sunday. He
may know de varse, and de chapter, but 'e done preach what de Lor'
say, nohow."

"Then you don't believe in a one-sided sermon, Harry?" returned the
deacon, while Marston and Maxwell sat enjoying the negro's simple
opinion of the Elder's sermon.

"No, mas'r. What the Bible teach me is to lob de Lor'-be good
myself, and set example fo'h oders. I an't what big white Christian
say must be good, wen 'e neber practice him,--but I good in me heart
when me tink what de Lor' say be good. Why, mas'r, Elder preach dat
sarmon so many Sundays, dat a' forgot him three times, since me know
'im ebery word," said Harry; and his face began to fill with
animation and fervency.

"Well, now, Harry, I think you are a little too severe on the
Elder's sermon; but if you know so much about it, give these
gentlemen a small portion of it, just to amuse them while the Elder
is taking a nap," said Marston.

"Ay, mas'r, be nap dat way too often for pious man what say he lobe
de Lor'," replied Harry; and drawing himself into a tragic attitude,
making sundry gesticulations, and putting his hand to his forehead,