“Hit’s no use in talkin’ Bre’r Josh, dey sho wuz er fire!” cried one of the deacons.
“Sho’s de Lawd’s in heaben. I feel it gittin’ on my fingers fo I drap dat straw!” said another.
“Hit smite me fust right on top er my haid!” whispered Uncle Josh in awe.
They cautiously approached the pulpit and there in front of it lay the charred fragments of the burned straw pile.
They gathered around it in awe-struck wonder. One of them touched it with his foot.
“Doan do dat!” cried Uncle Josh, lifting his hand with authority.
They drew back, Uncle Josh saw the immense power in that heap of charred straw. Some of it was a little damp and it had been only partly burned.
“Dar’s de mericle er de Sperit!” he solemnly declared.
“Yas Lawd!” echoed a deacon.
“Fetch de hammer, en de saw, en de nails, en de boards en build right dar en altar ter de Sperit!” were his prophetic commands.