"Dere, now see if ye can stop yer 'fernal noise. What bizness yer sing dat? Dats nothin' for to sing. You don't know nothin'. You biggest heap o' wooly heads I eber did see. Was der eber such a pack o' ignerant-ramuses eber in dis world afore? I answer 'firmatively--no! What's de use o' temptin' to preach to sich people? Dey wouldn't know if one was to rise from de dead. Not know de diff'rence 'tween psalm tunes an nuffin else! Dis people be dismissed." The latter sentence was pronounced most disdainfully. The chorister, with head unbroken, and temper unruffled, arose and begged they might all be forgiven their heedlessness; it would be so great a disappointment to have the meeting broken up so prematurely, it would give them great pleasure if Uncle Mat would be _so_ kind as to dispense with singing and proceed to prayers and exhortations. One or two other prominent members followed in much the same strain, flattering the indignant preacher by making special reference to his eloquence and popularity. This had the desired effect. Uncle Mat became mollified, and wiping the angry perspiration from his brow, he embarked upon his longest prayer--during which our China and many others fell fast asleep. CHAPTER XV. KIZZIE. "Lucy," said Mrs. Lisle, to a dwarfed child of thirteen years, who was one of those creatures expected to "run two ways at once," "run, Lucy, and tell Kizzie to come straight here to me." The winged child came speedily back, accompanied by the weaver, a stolid looking old negress named Kizzie. "Kizzie," exclaimed her mistress, "I know you have stolen the cover to that barrel that has been standing for so long outside the store-room." "What for should I want wid de cover, Missis?" inquired the servant. "That is for you to tell, and right soon too--do you hear me?" "I have never touched the cover, Missis." "I do not believe you. Who has then?" "Sure, an' I doesn't know. You allus lays eberyting on to me, Missis, when I'se jes as in'cent--" "I wish to hear none of your palaver. You have stolen from me repeatedly; you know you have been just as hateful as you could be ever since--ever since Joe went away." Mrs. Lisle had not designed this reference to Joe. Any mention of his name only made Kizzie more intractable. Kizzie had been standing upon the threshold of her mistress' chamber, upon which she now sank down as if she had been shot. She had rolled herself into a ball, her grey head buried in her lap, from which issued the most protracted unearthly howl. This was succeeded by passionate ejaculations, in which "my poor Joe--my poor dear Joe, my baby--my last and only one"--were alone distinguishable. "Kizzie, stop that acting, and get up from there," commanded Mrs. Lisle. The ball swayed to and fro, but evinced no disposition for unbending. "Bring me the whip, Lucy--we shall see." The blows fell heavy and fast, but as for outward demonstration, cry or moan, that human form might as well have been a cotton bale.