"Didn' I tell you ol' Simon was up to some'p'n?"
"Out with it," exclaimed her master, "out with it, I knew he was up to something, too."
"George, try to remember who you are."
"Brothah Simon come in chu'ch dis mo'nin' an' he 'scended up de pulpit—"
"Well, what of that, are you not glad he is back?"
"Hol' on, lemme tell you—he 'scended up de pu'pit, an' 'menced his disco'se. Well, he hadn't no sooner got sta'ted when in walked one o' dem brazen Lousiany wenches—"
"Eliza!"
"Hol' on, Miss M'ree, she walked in lak she owned de place, an' flopped huhse'f down on de front seat."
"Well, what if she did," burst in Mrs. Marston, "she had a right. I want you to understand, you and the rest of your kind, that that meeting-house is for any of the hands that care to attend it. The woman did right. I hope she'll come again."
"I hadn' got done yit, Missy. Jes' ez soon ez de sehmont was ovah, whut mus' Brothah Simon, de 'zortah, min' you, whut mus' he do but come hoppin' down f'om de pu'pit, an' beau dat wench home! 'Scorted huh clah 'crost de plantation befo' evahbody's face. Now whut you call dat?"