But the old negro stood his ground. “De student ain’t gits um ’til he done dead. Ain’t dat so? Den he can’t hurt um none. Ain’t dat so, too? An’ I gots dis tuh say. One ob my w’ite folks is er nuss tuh de hospital; and dat lady is er pure angel wid de sick nigger. Ef I sick tuhmorruh I goin’ tuh she; an’ wut she say is good wid me. I wants dis carcase tek care ob w’ile he is alibe. W’en he done dead, I ain’t keer.” “Yuh ain’t keer whedder yuh is cut up an’ scatter, ’stead of bein’ bury in Gawd own grabe-yahd?” someone asked the iconoclast. Under this direct attack, the old man weakened. “Well, mebbe I ain’t sayin’ I jus’ as lief,” he compromised. “But I t’ink Gawd onduhstan’ de succumstance, an’ mek allowance.” Serena Robbins broke the silence which followed. “How come yuh ain’t ax me fuh pray ober um?” she enquired in a slightly offended voice. “Mus’ be yuh is done fergit how Gawd done answer we las’ prayeh, and sen’ dat goat tuh sabe yu’ life, when starbation done stan’ dey an’ look yuh in de eye.” Porgy brightened at that, and turned eagerly from the dark horror of Peter’s suggestion. “Dat so, my Sister,” he commenced; but her eyes were already closed, and her body was swaying from side to side, as she sat cross-legged on the flags. Presently she began to intone: “Oh, Jedus, who done trouble de wateh in de sea ob Gallerie--” “Amen!” came the chorus, led by Porgy. “An’ likewise who done cas’ de Debbil out ob de afflicted, time an’ time agin--” “Oh, Jedus!” “Wut mek yuh ain’t lay yo’ han’ on dis sister’ head?” “Oh, my fadder!” “An’ sen’ de Debbil out ob she, down er steep place intuh de sea, lak yuh use’ tuh do, time an’ time agin?’ “Time an’ time agin!” “Ain’t dis po’ cripple done lif’ up out de dus’ by we prayeh?” “Da’s de trut’, Jedus.” “Eben so, lif’ up he woman, an’ mek she well, time an’ time agin!” “Time an’ time ag’in! Allelujah!” After the prayer the group scattered, each going silently away in the late dusk, until there remained only Porgy, who sat with bowed head, and Maria, massive and inscrutable, beside him. When the last retreating footstep died away, the great negress bent her turbaned head over until it almost touched Porgy’s face. “Listen tuh me,” she whispered. “Yuh wants dat ’oman cure up; ain’t yuh?” “Yuh knows I does.” And, already suffering from the reaction from religious enthusiasm, his voice was flat and hopeless. “Berry well den. De ribber boat leabe fum de wharf at sebben o’clock, tuhmorruh mo’nin’. Yuh knows dat deck-han’ by de name Mingo?” Porgy nodded assent, his eyes intent upon her face. “Well; git on de wharf early, an’ gib um two dollar. Tell um w’en de boat done git tuh Ediwander Islan’ at eight tuhmorruh night, tuh go right tuh Lody cabin, an’ tell she tuh mek a conjer tuh cas’ de debbil out Bess.” “Yuh tink dat cure she?” asked Porgy, with a glimmer of new hope in his eyes. “I ain’t tink. I knows,” came in tones of absolute conviction. “Now, min’; an’ do wut I say.”