"It's to do oder folks as you'd want 'em to do to you, or somehow dat fashion. I tell you, Massa John, 't would be mighty hard for you white folks to work great many years and get noffin'. Den, if you dies, whar'd we go to? I specks we'd go down de riber, like Jones's poor people did las' week."
"Well, well, Aunt Lucy, that was too bad; but Jones was in debt, and I suppose they had to be sold."
"O yes, I s'pose so; but dat you read in de Bible sort o' sticks to me—I can't help it," said this faithful old mother in Israel, as she went out to her work.
In a moment or two Mrs. Bayliss entered the room, and the deacon said:
"Wife, what kind of a text do you think Aunt Lucy has just given me?"
"Text?"
"Yes, text."
"What's got into her head now?"
"She says she's been thinking about what I read in prayer-time the other evening, referring to the golden rule, and that it sort o' sticks to her. She spoke, of the excitement over Jones's black people who were sent down the river the other day; and I tell you, the way she applied her text, it 'sort o' sticks' to me."
"O hush!" indignantly exclaimed Mrs. Bayliss. "Aunt Lucy's mighty religious, and has so many notions of her own she's not worth minding, any how."