significance as a day of worship as well; then she read certain
chapters from the Bible, finishing with the story of David, a
narrative that made a deep impression upon Yancy, comfortably
seated in the doorway.

"Can't you tell the children a story, Mr. Yancy? Something about
their own neighborhood I think would be nice, something with a
moral," the pleasant earnest voice f Mrs. Ferris roused the
Scratch Hiller from his meditations.

"Yes, ma'am, I reckon I can tell 'em a story." He stood up,
filling the doorway with his bulk. "I can tell you-all a story
about this here house," he said, addressing himself to the
children. He smiled happily. "You-all don't need to look so
solemn, a body ain't going to snap at you! This house are the
old Blount cabin, but the Blounts done moved away from it years
and years ago. They're down Fayetteville way now. There was a
passel of 'em and they was about as common a lot of white folks
as you'd find anywhere; I know, because I come to a dance here
once and Dave Blount called me a liar right in this very room."
He paused, that this impressive fact might disseminate itself.
Hannibal slid forward in his seat, his earnest little face bent
on Yancy.

"Why did he call you a liar, Uncle Bob?" he demanded.

"Well, I scarcely know, Nevvy, but that's what he done, and he
stuck some words in front of it that ain't fitten I should
repeat."