One evening, as he sat on a hog-pen talking to Uncle Daniel, who was a preacher, they began to speak of the wickedness among the young negroes on the plantation. “Pyears ter me,” said Uncle Rob, “ez ef dem niggers done furgot dey got ter die; dey jes er dancin’ an’ er cavortin’ ev’y night, an’ dey’ll git lef’, mun, wheneber dat angel blow his horn. I tell you what I ben er stud’n, Brer Dan’l. I ben er stud’n dat what’s de matter wid deze niggers is, dat de chil’en ain’t riz right. Yer know de Book hit sez ef yer raise de chil’en, like yer want ’em ter go, den de ole uns dey won’t part fum hit; an’, sar, ef de Lord spars me tell nex’ Sunday, I ’low ter ax marster ter lemme teach er Sunday-school in de gin-house fur de chil’en.” Major Waldron heartily consented to Uncle Bob’s proposition, and had the gin-house all swept out for him, and had the carpenter to make him some rough benches. And when the next Sunday evening came around, all of the little darkies, with their heads combed and their Sunday clothes on, assembled for the Sunday-school. The white children begged so hard to go too, that finally Mammy consented to take them. So when Uncle Snake-bit Bob walked into the gin-house, their eager little faces were among those of his pupils. “Niw, you all sot down,” said Uncle Rob, “an’ ’have yerse’fs till I fix yer in er line.” Having arranged them to his satisfaction, he delivered to them a short address, setting forth the object of the meeting, and his intentions concerning them. “Chil’en,” he began, “I fotch yer hyear dis ebenin fur ter raise yer like yer ought ter be riz. De folks deze days is er gwine ter strucshun er dancin’ an’ er pickin’ uv banjers an’ er singin’ uv reel chunes an’ er cuttin’ up uv ev’y kin’ er dev’lment. I ben er watchin’ ’em; an’, min’ yer, when de horn hit soun’ fur de jes’ ter rise, half de niggers gwine ter be wid de onjes’. An’ I ’low ter myse’f dat I wuz gwine ter try ter save de chil’en. I gwine ter pray fur yer, I gwine ter struc yer, an’ I gwine do my bes’ ter lan’ yer in hebn. Now yer jes pay tenshun ter de strucshun I gwine give yer—dat’s all I ax uv yer—an’ me an’ de Lord we gwine do de res’.” After this exhortation, the old man began at the top of the line, and asked “Gus,” a bright-eyed little nig, “Who made you?” “I dun no, sar,” answered Gus, very untruthfully, for Aunt Nancy had told him repeatedly. “God made yer,” said Uncle Bob. “Now, who Inane yer?” “God,” answered Gus. “Dat’s right,” said the old man; then proceeded to “Jim,” the next in order. “What’d he make yer out’n?” demanded the teacher. “I dunno, sar,” answered Jim, with as little regard for truth as Gus had shown. “He made yer out’n dut,” said Uncle Bob. “Now, what’d he make yer out’n?” “Dut,” answered Jim, promptly, and the old man passed on to the next. “What’d he make yer fur?”