"Don't you think it is beneath the dignity of a pastor to black shoes?" old Jonas asked. Randall chuckled. "That's the way some white folks'd feel about it," he answered; "but me--I'm black, an' I ain't got no business for to feel so--not me! St. Paul, or it may be St. Timothy, he says, somewhere, I dunner 'zackly where, 'What your han' finds to do, let your heart commend.'" "Wa'n't it Shakespeare said that?" Mr. Sanders inquired. "It mought 'a' been, suh," replied Randall. "All I know, it was some of them Bible folks. They say, 'Do what yo' han' finds to do, an' do it better'n some un else could 'a' done it.' That's why you see these shoes lookin' like they're spang new." [Illustration: "'That's why you see these shoes lookin' like they're spang new'"] "Why, I should have thought that a man who is studying to be a bishop," said old Jonas, sharply, "would think himself above blacking anybody's shoes." "It may be so, suh, in some parts of the country and amongst some people, but it ain't that-away wid me--I may come to it, suh, but I ain't come to it yit." Randall finished the shoes, and offered to black those of the other men present, but they declined, and then old Jonas fished around in his pocket for a shin-plaster small enough to fit the job that had been done. He found a ragged one that faintly promised to pay the bearer five cents on demand, but Randall recoiled from it, and held up his hands in protest. "No, suh! Oh, no, suh! It was wuth all I done jest to hear you-all gentermens talkin' kinder friendly like. Ef you-all had all the trouble I uv done had, all the time dodgin' an' lookin roun' cornders fer fear er Mr. Tuttle er some er his kinnery--he's got um all up dar whar I been--you'd be mo' than thankful for to hear some un talkin' like de nex' minnit ain't 'gwine ter be de las'. I done got it proned inter me that I'm gwine for to be Ku-Klucked long 'fo' I have gray ha'r. You dunner how nice it is for to have white folks talkin' like they ain't gwine to kill you yet awhile." To any one who knew little of the negro race, Randall's remarks would have sounded tremendously like a sly joke, with a little irony thrown in for good measure; but though the negro's voice was soft and deliberate, he was terribly in earnest, and those who heard him understood and appreciated this simple recital of a harrowing experience already behind him, and his lively fear of something worse to come. "Well, when you get to be a bishop," remarked old Jonas, "I expect you to come and black my shoes." "I'll do it, suh, an' be glad to do it. Des take yo' stan' anywhere, jest so it's a public place, an' holla at me, an' tell me you want yo' shoes blacked. I'll do it, suh, in the face of ten thousand." "I believe you would!" exclaimed old Jonas almost gleefully. "You don't hafter b'lieve me, suh; jest holla at me, an' yo shoes'll be blacked."