Nat’s oratory was in full flower, and Felo applauded him, an encouraging ally. Always unorthodox in his views, his over-enthusiasm now became offensive to the women, and their dissenting voices began to fill the room with shrill echoes. Susan realized that a harsh dispute was imminent and something had to be done to prevent it. The fortuitous whimpering of Dink’s comb arrested her attention, and she welcomed the plaintive sound as a divine interruption. Fixing her eyes on the front door, she arose from her chair with unusual energy, and tapping her spoon on her plate with a ringing sound, she called out: “Stop dis racket up in hyuh! Y’all take my house for a honky-tonk? Quit yo’ racket an’ try an’ talk like people.” Her positive tone brought immediate silence. Everyone looked uneasily towards the door, anticipating the entrance of some accusing moderator of the peace. Seeing no one appear, Nat said: “Gawd knows, Sis’ Susan, you oughta stop play’n chillun tricks, ole as you is. W’at sattafaction you fin’ try’n to frighten people like dat?” “You ain’ too ole to make racket, is you?” Susan asked quietly. “An’ w’at sattafaction you fin’, mult’plyin’ words an’ ’sputin’ wid wimmins till you stirs ’um up to hot blood an’ spiteful wranglin’,—an’ und’ my roof, too? W’at you gotta say ’bout it?” “For Gawd sake, stop y’all quoilin’ an’ set down,” interposed Tom. “Y’all had to wait till big Sunday to gether hyuh an’ make a ruckus?... Susan, whah dat boy gone wid de comb? Tell him to blow music on de thing an’ change dese niggers ’maginashun.” A second request was unnecessary. Dink’s appetite being gratefully appeased, his mental attitude was one of harmonious sociability. Adjusting the tissue paper on his comb, he put the outlandish instrument to his lips and began playing with spirit the old shout called “De W’ite Horse Pawin’ in de Valley.” The merry melody floated through the room, the infectious lilt taking possession of the listeners’ thoughts and holding them captives to its insistent appeal. They began to sway gently to-and-fro, their bodies, like their minds, intoxicated by the captivating rhythm. The women began to hum; a low, melodious hum, like the far-away sound of a colony of wood birds awakening at day-break. Then the men joined the humming, and the sound recalled the droning of distant village church bells, floating over quiet fields at sunset. And the mingling of the voices made one think of the rumbling of November winds chasing among the telegraph wires. After a while, Felo began to sing the narrative lines of the song, the others taking up the burden, and responding with growing fervor after each line: “My Lawd command me to go in de wilderness. (W’ite horse pawin’ in de valley) W’at did I see w’en I went in de wilderness? (W’ite horse pawin’ in de valley).” Then like a majestic wave of sound, rose the noble refrain: