“I didn’t know who it wuz den, but I hearn later dat it wuz Congressman Theo. Kluttz, from Salisbury. I had fetched water fer him ter drink at er speakin’ at Concord one day. “Dey took me ter de lock-up an’ put me in er iron cell an’ it wuz late in de day ’fo’ I knowed er thing. Den I waked up an’ looked ’round me. I seed niggers in all de cells, an’ mos’ uv dem had sore heads. Dey had been tryin’ to git in de White House. I cried des la’k er chile an’ wish dat I wuz back at Concord wid de people dat I know. I imagined dat I seed all de good fo’ks here. “Early de nex’ mornin’ de bossman uv de place come to me an’ say, ‘Ef you’ll git outen dis town des as fas’ as you kin hustle, we’ll let you go. A gem’man lef’ er ticket home fer you. Take it an’ git!’ “Dat sho’ was sweet music to my ears. I wuz ready to go right den. I went out de do’ an’ almos’ skip to de depot. “Thank Gawd dat de ole nigger’s back home ergin. Dat’s where he’s goin’ ter stay. Dem niggers what want to go to de White House ’ceptions kin go, but give me my ole fryin’ pan, er big fat ’possum, a peck uv taters an’ er pint uv gravy. Dat’s what suits dis nigger. I ain’t hankerin’ arter shakin’ nobudy’s han’.” [Illustration: _Preparing for the Guest._] AND THE SIGNS FAILED NOT “Shhoo, shhoo, shhoo, you good-for-nothing thing, we don’t want any company to-day,” shouted the large, ruddy-faced lady of the Parks Big House, to a handsome, red and black game cock that jumped upon the walk in front of the porch, flapped his glossy wings and started to crow. “Who you reckon’s comin’ here dis time uv de week, an’ we so busy, Miss Jule?” asked old Matt Miller, the family servant, as she came around the corner of the house, from the kitchen, on her way to the well, carrying two water buckets, with her sleeves rolled to her elbows, showing a pair of lithe, black arms, well muscled and hard. “I don’t know, Matt, but that rooster persists in crowing in front of the door, and that is a mighty good sign that some stranger’s coming for a meal,” declared Miss Jule. “Yes’m, an’ I’se done drap de dish rag twice dis mornin’ an’ dat’s er sign dat don’t fail, an’ de pusson whut comes is mos’ lakly to be hongry, too. “Maybe hits de new preacher?” “No, Matt, I don’t think so, he’s never said anything about coming, and he will go and see all of the elders and deacons before he starts around among the common folks. He hasn’t been to see the Graves yet, and they are pillars in Sharon.” “Humph, Miss Jule, you don’t know dese young preachers lak I doos. Hit ain’t de elders an’ de deekins deyer arter so much as hit’s de mens wid de money. “Leastwise, dat de way hit is wid our people, an’ human natur’ is ’bout de same whether de skin’s white or black. I knows dis, ef you hain’t gut de spondulicks you don’t git de preacher. “Ef hit ain’t de rocks hit’s de weemens dat de young preachers is gut on deyer minds dese days. Dat sho’ is de truf.