"Yas, Isrul, dat 's so. Pray Him to strenken my faith, ol' man. You stays so much on de water wid de sky in yo' eyes, whilst I works 'mongst de woodpiles, so close to de yearth—seem like maybe you mought git nigher to Gord 'n what I'm enabled to do. Pickin' up chips, hit 's lowly work an' hit keeps yo' face down, an'—"
"Don't say dat, ol' 'oman! Use yo' fo'sight an' 'stid o' you seein' chips you'll see kindlin'-wood. Dat what dey is. Dey 'll lead yo' heart upward dat-a-way. Heap o' folks don't see nothin' but money in de river—money an' mud; an' dey don't know it's a merror sometimes, full o' stars an' glory. I done read Gord's rainbow promises on de face o' dat muddy river more 'n once-t, when I lifted out my swimp-nets on a still mornin' whilst de sun an' de mist consulted together to show a mericle to a ol' dim-eyed nigger."
"You sho' does help me when you 'splains it all out dat-a-way, Isrul. Pray like a gordly man, ol' pardner, an' yo' ol' 'oman she gwine talk faith strong as she kin—widout turnin' hycoprite."
"Dat's right, honey—ol' 'oman—dat's right. You pray an' I'll pray—an' we'll watch wid faith. An' ef Gord don't sen' Marse Harol', He'll git a message to us some way, so we'll be guided."
The sound of a horn from across the river put an end to the conversation. Some one was blowing for the ferryman.
"Pity you tied Wood-duck up so soon to-night," said the old wife, following Israel with her eyes as she spoke, while he rose slowly and taking the oars down from the rafters started to the river.
In a moment the old man's answering horn sounded clear and loud in response, and the clank of the chain as it dropped in the bow of the skiff, followed by the rhythmic sound of the oar-locks, told his listening mate that the ferryman was on his way.
II
Besides plying the ferry-skiff at which Israel earned odd dimes—every day a few—he turned many an honest penny with his shrimp-nets.