“She used to read the Bible to old Esha, by my direction.”
“Call up old Esha. I would like to question her.”
Esha soon appeared, her bronzed face glistening with perspiration from the kitchen fire,—the never-failing bright-colored Madras handkerchief on her head.
“Esha,” said Mr. Ratcliff, “have you ever seen me before?”
“Yes, Massa Ratcliff, of’n. Lib’d on de nex’ plantation to yourn. I ’longed to Massa Peters wunst. But he’m dead and gone.”
“Do you know what an oath is, Esha?”
“Yes, massa, it’s when one swar he know dis or dunno dat.”
“Very well. Do you know what becomes of her who swears falsely?”
“O yes, massa; she go to de lake of brimstone and fire, whar’ she hab bad time for eber and eber, Amen.”
“Are you a Christian, Esha?”