Again the answer was, “I dunno, sar;” and the old man, after scratching his head and reflecting a moment, said, “Fur ter do de bes’ yer kin,” which the child repeated after him. “Who wuz de fus man?” was his next question; and the little nig professing ignorance, as usual, the old man replied, “Marse Adum.” And so he went all down the line, explaining that “Marse Cain kilt his brudder;” that “Marse Abel wuz de fus man slewed;” that “Marse Noah built de ark;” that “Marse Thuselum wuz de oldes’ man,” and so on, until he reached the end of the line, and had almost exhausted his store of information. Then, thinking to see how much the children remembered, he began at the top of the line once more, and asked the child, “Who made yer?” “Dut,” answered the little negro. “Who?” demanded Uncle Bob, in astonishment. “Dut,” replied the child. “Didn’ I tell yer God made yer?” asked the old man. “No, sar,” replied the boy; “dat’n wat God made done slip out de do’.” And so it was. As soon as Uncle Bob’s back was turned, Gus, who had wearied of the Sunday-school, slipped out, and the old man had not noticed the change. The confusion resulting from this trifling circumstances was fearful. “Dut” made the first child. The question, “What did he make yer fur?” was promptly answered, “Marse Adum.” “Eve wuz de fus man.” “Marse Cain wuz de fus ’oman.” “Marse Abel kilt his brudder.” “Marse Noah wuz de fus one slewed.” “Marse Thuselum built de ark.” And so on, until the old man had to begin all over again, and give each one a new answer. The catechising through with, Uncle Bob said: “Now, chil’en, I gwine splain de Scripchurs ter yer. I gwine tell yer boutn Dan’l in de lions’ den. Dan’l wuz er good Christyun man wat lived in de Bible; and whedder he wuz er white man or whedder he wuz er brack man I dunno; I ain’t nuber hyeard nobody say. But dat’s neder hyear no dar; he wuz er good man, and he pray tree times eby day. At de fus peepin’ uv de day, Brer Dan’l he usen fur ter hop outn his bed and git down on his knees; and soon’s eber de horn hit blowed fur de hans ter come outn de field fur dinner, Brer Dan’l he went in his house, he did, and he flop right back on ’is knees. And wen de sun set, den dar he wuz agin er prayin’ and er strivin’ wid de Lord. “Well, de king uv dat kentry, he ’low he nuber want no prayin’ bout ’im; he sez, sezee, ‘I want de thing fur ter stop’; but Brer Dan’l, he nuber studid ’im; he jes prayed right on, tell by’mby de king he ’low dat de nex’ man wat he cotch prayin’ he wuz gwine cas’m in de lions’ den.