“In de valley, my Lawd, On my knees; In de valley, my Lawd, In de valley. In de valley, my Lawd, Down on my knees, I seen de w’ite horse pawin’ in de valley.” Then back again to the tuneful story of adventure in the land of the spirit: “Who heard my pray’rs w’en I prayed in de wilderness? (W’ite horse pawin’ in de valley) Who foun’ de road w’en I comed out de wilderness? (W’ite horse pawin’ in de valley).” Then the chorus again, full, swinging and triumphant: “In de valley, my Lawd, On my knees; In de valley, my Lawd, In de valley. In de valley, my Lawd, Down on my knees, I seen de w’ite horse pawin’ in de valley.” The tuneful tumult awakened Uncle Foteen from his peaceful sleep, and he looked around the room bewildered, uncertain of his whereabouts. What did the gathering mean? Why were they sitting around the long white table, singing church songs? Whose wake was it? Who were they waiting for in the dim, lamp-lighted room? Looking at Susan appealingly, he asked: “He ain’ come yet?” She went over to the old man, and said to him quietly: “Evvything alright, Unc’ Foteen. You bin sleepin’.” Looking at her thoughtfully, he said with tremulous voice: “If dat candle burn out befo’ Marse Sylvain git hyuh, we gotta put Ma’am Guillaume away. You know, we ain’ ’lowed to keep her too long.” “Unc’ Foteen, lemme fix you some coffee an’ milk,” Susan said pleasantly; meaning to divert the old man’s thoughts. “An’ you all members, stop w’at you singin’,” she called to the chorus, “an’ sing somh’n w’at goin’ make Unc’ Foteen feel gay.” Obeying Susan’s request, Dink began playing a rollicking melody on the comb; patting his foot vehemently on the brick-sprinkled floor, to mark the even time. “Boy!” Felo called out to him indignantly, causing Dink to immediately stop playing. “Quit yo’ ratty music, an’ play somh’n decen’ w’at goes wid Sunday an’ fittin’ for Chrishtun people to sing.” “Don’ pay ’im no ’tenshun, li’l boy,” Susan interposed. “Dis house my meetin’-house; an’ if dey got people in de buildin’ displease wid de himes an’ music an’ things, den leave ’um go some yuther place an’ hunt till dey finds de thing w’at suits ’um. So go ’head, li’l boy, an’ play an’ sing jes’ like yo’ min’ tell you.” Further objection was useless after this declaration. Dink laid his comb on the bench along-side of him, and leaning back against the wall, began singing gaily: “W’en de moon be riz An’ come a-peepin’ thoo de branches o’ de ’simmon tree; Look like I hyeah ’im say: How come evvy night I see you watchin’ for me?... He don’ know I got a reason Brings me out hyuh evvy season, Lessen it be w’en de clouds is po’in down rain.”