The preacher did not look down to see how wide his listener’s eyes grew as he answered: “Oh, I ain’t fittin’ to be no he’p to you, suh. Fust thing, I ain’t nevah got religion, an’ then I ain’t well larned enough.” “Oh, there are a thousand other ways in which you can help, and I feel sure that you will.” “Of co’se, I’ll do de ve’y bes’ I kin.” “There is one thing I want you to do soon, as a favour to me.” “I can’t go to de mou’nah’s bench,” cried the boy, in consternation. “And I don’t want you to,” was the calm reply. Another look of wide-eyed astonishment took in the preacher’s face. These were strange words from one of his guild. But without noticing the surprise he had created, Dokesbury went on: “What I want is that you will take me fishing as soon as you can. I never get tired of fishing and I am anxious to go here. Tom Scott says you fish a great deal about here.” “Why, we kin go dis ve’y afternoon,” exclaimed ’Lias, in relief and delight; “I’s mighty fond o’ fishin’, myse’f.” “All right; I’m in your hands from now on.” ’Lias drew his shoulders up, with an unconscious motion. The preacher saw it, and mentally rejoiced. He felt that the first thing the boy beside him needed was a consciousness of responsibility, and the lifted shoulders meant progress in that direction, a sort of physical straightening up to correspond with the moral one. On seeing her son walk in with the minister, Aunt ‘Ca’line’s’ delight was boundless. “La! Brothah Dokesbury,” she exclaimed, “wha’d you fin’ dat scamp?” “Oh, down the street here,” the young man replied lightly. “I got hold of his name and made myself acquainted, so he came home to go fishing with me.” “’Lias is pow’ful fon’ o’ fishin’, hisse’f. I ’low he kin show you some mighty good places. Cain’t you, ’Lias?” “I reckon.” ’Lias was thinking. He was distinctly grateful that the circumstances of his meeting with the minister had been so deftly passed over. But with a half idea of the superior moral responsibility under which a man in Dokesbury’s position laboured, he wondered vaguely—to put it in his own thought-words—“ef de preachah hadn’t put’ nigh lied.” However, he was willing to forgive this little lapse of veracity, if such it was, out of consideration for the anxiety it spared his mother. When Stephen Gray came in to dinner, he was no less pleased than his wife to note the terms of friendship on which the minister received his son. On his face was the first smile that Dokesbury had seen there, and he awakened from his taciturnity and proffered much information as to the fishing-places thereabout. The young minister accounted this a distinct gain. Anything more than a frowning silence from the “little yaller man” was gain. The fishing that afternoon was particularly good. Catfish, chubs, and suckers were landed in numbers sufficient to please the heart of any amateur angler.