'What do you say to that, Joe?' asked his father; 'would you like to come home, and have a woman teacher?'
'I'd like to do what mother wants me to,' said the lad, putting his arms about her neck, and kissing her.
'You're a good boy, Joseph,' said his mother.
'But, you'll let me keep the pony, won't you, father?' said the lad.
'Yes, my son, and if you learn well, you shall go with uncle James when you're fifteen.'
Shortly afterward we separated for the night.
CHAPTER XI.
On a gentle knoll, a few hundred yards from the negro quarters, and in the midst of a grove of pines, whose soft brown tassels covered the ground all around it, stood the negro meetinghouse. It was built of unhewn logs, its crevices chinked with clay, and was large enough to seat about two hundred persons. Though its exterior resembled a backwoods barn, its interior had a neat and tasteful appearance. Evergreen boughs hid its rough beams and bare shingled roof, and long wreaths of pine leaves hung in graceful festoons from its naked walls and narrow windows. On the two sides of a wide aisle, which served to separate the sheep on the right hand from the goats on the left, were long rows of benches, with hard board bottoms, and rough open backs, and beyond them, divided from the rest of the interior by a rustic railing, was the 'family pew,' an enclosure about twelve feet square, neatly carpeted, and furnished with half a dozen arm chairs. Opposite to this was a platform elevated three steps from the floor, and on it stood a rustic settee, a large easy chair, and a modest desk covered with green baize, and decorated with small sprigs of evergreen. On this desk rested a large Bible.
The enormous seashell which served as a bell to this 'house of prayer,' was sending its last blast in long echoes through the old trees, when, with Mrs. Preston and the children, I elbowed an opening through the thick group of grinning Africans that blocked the doorway, and 'worked a passage' down the crowded aisle to the family enclosure. Seating myself in one of its cane-bottomed seats, I glanced around on the assemblage. Such a gathering of woolly heads I had never seen. Every plantation within a circuit of five miles had sent in a representation, till the benches, the aisle, the small area around the pulpit, and the open space near the doorway, were all densely packed. On the left, the men, in gaudy cravats and many-colored waistcoats, were chatting merrily together, and enjoying themselves as heartily as a parcel of Yankees at a clambake; and on the right, the women, in red and yellow turbans, and flaming shawls and neckerchiefs, were bobbing about and flaunting their colors, like so many dolphins sporting in the sunshine. Preston was seated in the lone chair at the back of the pulpit, and Boss Joe and Black Jack occupied the settee near him. The latter shortly rose to open the services, and, in a moment, a deep silence fell on the noisy multitude. The old preacher had carefully combed his thin wool into a pyramid on the top of his head, and he looked, dressed in glossy black pants, longtailed blue coat, ruffled shirt, and high shirt collar, like a stuffed specimen at an exhibition of wax figures. Stepping rather unsteadily to the front of the platform, he flourished his red cotton bandanna, and spreading his huge claws over the large Bible, said:
'Dear bred'rin, leff us begin de worship ob de Lord by singin':