All doubts, however, were soon dispelled. The afternoon sun drove Mr. Marston to the back veranda where he was sitting when Uncle Simon again approached and greeted him.
"Well, Uncle Simon, I hear that you're back in your pulpit again?"
"Yes, suh, I's done 'sumed my labohs in de Mastah's vineya'd."'
"Have you had a good rest of it?"
"Well, I ain' ezzackly been restin'," said the aged man, scratching his head. "I's been pu'su'in' othah 'ployments."
"Oh, yes, but change of work is rest. And how's the rheumatism, now, any better?"
"Bettah? Why, Mawse Gawge, I ain' got a smidgeon of hit. I's jes' limpin' a leetle bit on 'count o' habit."
"Well, it's good if one can get well, even if his days are nearly spent."
"Heish, Mas' Gawge. I ain' t'inkin' 'bout dyin'."
"Aren't you ready yet, in all these years?"