When next Sunday came, Jack could not stand straight, for his back was
covered with sores and scars. But, with his Testament in his hand, he stood
before the people of the plantation, and said, "Mas'r whip me mos' ter
death last Monday, an' I don't know but he will kill me tomorrow, but if he
does, I shall not suffer more than Jesus did when he died on the cross for
us."

Monday morning the master called him and said,

"Jack, I hear you have been preaching again."

"Yes, mas'r. I must go an' tell sinners how Christ was wounded for our
transgressions, how he sweat drops of blood for us in the garden, an' wore
that cruel crown of thorns that we might wear a crown of joy when he
comes."

"But I don't want to hear your preaching. Now bare your back, and take the
flogging I told you I should give you if you went off preaching."

Fast flew the cruel lashes, until Jack's back was covered with wounds and
blood.

"Now, Jack, go down to the cotton-field and go to work. I reckon you'll
never want to preach again."

When the next Sunday came, Jack's back was in a terrible condition. But,
hobbling along, he found his friends in the neighboring plantation, and
said:--