'Good fur you, ole lady,' cried the preacher. 'After dat you'll gib me de pleasure ob your hand in de fuss dance.' 'Ob course, I will, _mister_ Joe; an' ef 'ou'm tired ob de ole 'ooman, I'll gib 'ou my han' in anoder dance.' 'No, you woan't, I doan't gwo fur second marridges,' rejoined Joe, looking slyly at Preston; 'dey ain't made in heaben.' 'No more' dey ain't,' said the old woman, heaving a long sigh, and also looking at Preston. 'You ain't a gwine to leff dese folks dance in de church, am you, Boss Joe?' asked a prim, demure-looking darky, in a black suit, with a white neckerchief and stiff shirt collar; probably some neighboring preacher. 'I reckon so,' replied Joe, dryly. 'An' _I_ reckons so, too, mister I scare-you-out (Iscariot),' cried the old negress. 'Ain't de planets de Lord's feet, an' doant dey dance! I reckons we ain't no better dan de Lord is; an' ef He mobes him feet, 'ou'd better mobe 'our'n. _We_ b'lieve in sarvin' HIM wid our han's an' our feet, too; we does, mister I-scare-you-out.' She did scare him out, for the 'pious gemman' left suddenly. When about all of the eatables had found their way down the cavernous--and ravenous--throats of the darkies, Boss Joe rose and called out: 'Yere, you massa Joe, you pull off you' apern, an' take de big fiddle--I'm 'gaged fur de fuss dance.' Young Preston seated himself on the platform, and several sable gentlemen with banjoes and fiddles took places beside him. 'Now all you men folks s'lect you' pardners,' cried the preacher, taking Dinah by the hand, and leading her out to the middle of the floor. They all paired off, the fiddles broke into a merry tune, and soon the little church, which had so often echoed with the groans of the saints, shook with the heels of the sinners. When the first dance was over, Boss Joe again called out: 'Now, massa Joe, strike up de waltz--Dinah an' I am gwine to show dese folks some highfalutin dancin'.' The waltz struck up, and off they whirled; Dinah went into it as if she were working for pay, and as Joe held her closely in his arms, her wide hoops expanded till she looked like a topsail schooner scudding under bare poles. As Joe was wiping the perspiration from his face, at the end of the waltz, an old negro entered, and whispered something in his ear. Joe's countenance fell in an instant, and, without saying a word, he left the room. 'Massa Joe,' relinquishing the big fiddle, then took the floor with Rosey, and gave the audience a genuine breakdown. His heels bobbed around like balls at a cricket match, and Rosey's petticoats fluttered about like the contents of a clothes line caught out in a hurricane. A better-looking couple were never seen in a ball room. 'He's a natural born darky,' said his father, laughing; 'he takes to dancing as a duck takes to water.'