To which she made no answer; and I was for some reason unwilling to press the matter. But things went on, not getting better but worse until I could not bear it. I watched my opportunity and got Maria alone.
"What is the matter," I asked, "that the people do not come on Sunday evening as they used? Are they tired of the reading, Maria?"
"I 'spect dey's as tired as a fish mus' be of de water," said Maria. She had a fine specimen under her hand at the moment, which I suppose suggested the figure.
"Then why do they not come as usual, Maria? there were only a few last night."
"Dere was so few, it was lonesome," said Maria.
"Then what is the reason?"
"Dere is more reasons for t'ings, den Maria can make out," she said thoughtfully. "Mebbe it's to make 'em love de priv'lege mo'."
"But what keeps them away, Maria? what hinders?"
"Chile, de Lord hab His angels, and de debil he hab his ministers; and dey takes all sorts o' shapes, de angels and de ministers too. I reckon dere's some work o' dat sort goin' on."