“I don’t know, Matt, but that rooster persists in crowing in front of the door, and that is a mighty good sign that some stranger’s coming for a meal,” declared Miss Jule.
“Yes’m, an’ I’se done drap de dish rag twice dis mornin’ an’ dat’s er sign dat don’t fail, an’ de pusson whut comes is mos’ lakly to be hongry, too.
“Maybe hits de new preacher?”
“No, Matt, I don’t think so, he’s never said anything about coming, and he will go and see all of the elders and deacons before he starts around among the common folks. He hasn’t been to see the Graves yet, and they are pillars in Sharon.”
“Humph, Miss Jule, you don’t know dese young preachers lak I doos. Hit ain’t de elders an’ de deekins deyer arter so much as hit’s de mens wid de money.
“Leastwise, dat de way hit is wid our people, an’ human natur’ is ’bout de same whether de skin’s white or black. I knows dis, ef you hain’t gut de spondulicks you don’t git de preacher.
“Ef hit ain’t de rocks hit’s de weemens dat de young preachers is gut on deyer minds dese days. Dat sho’ is de truf.
“Dat young feller, he’s done heered dat Marse George’s gut las’ year’s cotton in de shed, dat ain’t never been sold, an’ he’s des ’bout comin’ to spend de day.”
“What about our new preacher, Matt, do you like his looks?” asked the lady of the house, as she knitted.