got one somewhere, hav'n't you?" enquired Marston, laconically.

This was rather a "poser" on Bob; and, after stammering and mumbling
for some time-looking at Harry slyly, then at Marston, and again
dropping his eyes on the floor, he ejaculated,

"Well, mas'r, 'spose I might as well own 'im. Harry and me got one,
for sartin!"

"Ah, you black rascals, I knew you had one somewhere. Where did you
get it? That's some of Miss Franconia's doings."

"Can't tell you, mas'r, whar I got him; but he don't stop my hoein'
corn, for' true."

Franconia had observed Harry's tractableness, and heard him wish for
a Bible, that he might learn to read from it,--and she had secretly
supplied him with one. Two years Harry and Daddy Bob had spent hours
of the night in communion over it; the latter had learned to read
from it, the former had imbibed its great truths. The artless girl
had given it to them in confidence, knowing its consolatory
influences and that they, with a peculiar firmness in such cases,
would never betray her trust. Bob would not have refused his master
any other request; but he would never disclose the secret of Miss
Franconia giving it.

"Well, my old faithful," said Marston, "we want you to put the sprit
into Harry; we want to hear a sample of his preaching. Now, Harry,
you can begin; give it big eloquence, none of the new fashion
preaching, give us the old plantation break-down style."