"Now, go dig a hole and put Poll in it."
As master was turning away, he was met by a neatly-dressed black man, who wore a white muslin cravat and white cotton gloves, and carried two books in his hand. He had an humble, reverent expression, and I readily recognized him as the free colored preacher of the neighborhood—a good, religious man, God-fearing and God-serving. No one knew or could say aught against him. How I did long to speak to him; to sit at his feet as a disciple, and learn from him heavenly truths.
As master turned round, the preacher, with a polite air, took off his hat, saying:
"Your servant, Master."
"What do you want, nigger?"
"Why, Master, I heard that one of your servants was dead, and I come to ask your leave to convene the friends in a short prayer-meeting, if you will please let us."
"No, I be d——d if you shall, you rascally free nigger; if you don't git yourself off my place, I'll git my cowhide to you. I wants none of yer tom-foolery here."
"I beg Master's pardon, but I meant no harm. I generally go to see the sick, and hold prayer over the dead."
"You doesn't do it here; and now take your dirty black hide away, or it will be the worse for you."