He determined to find out the cause of this desertion of his church by the negroes to whom he had ministered so many years. At the close of a Sunday morning’s service, Nelse was slowly descending the gallery stairs leading Charlie Gaston by the hand, after the church had been nearly emptied of the white people. The Preacher stopped him near the door. “How’s your Mistress, Nelse?” “She’s gettin’ better all de time now praise de Lawd. Eve she stay wid er dis mornin’, while I fetch dis boy ter church. He des so sot on goin’.” “Where are all the other folks who used to fill that gallery, Nelse?” “You doan tell me, you aint heard about dem?” he answered with a grin. “Well, I haven’t heard, and I want to hear.” “De laws-a-massy, dey done got er church er dey own! Dey has meetin’ now in de school house dat Yankee ’oman built. De teachers tell ’em ef dey aint good ernuf ter set wid de white folks in dere chu’ch, dey got ter hole up dey haids, and not ’low nobody ter push em up in er nigger gallery. So dey’s got ole Uncle Josh Miller to preach fur ’em. He ’low he got er call, en he stan’ up dar en holler fur ’em bout er hour ev’ry Sunday mawnin’ en night. En sech whoopin’, en yellin’, en bawlin’! Yer can hear ’em er mile. Dey tries ter git me ter go. I tell ’em, Marse John Durham’s preach-in’s good ernuf fur me, gall’ry er no gall’ry. I tell ’em dat I spec er gall’ry nigher heaven den de lower flo’ enyhow--en fuddermo’, dat when I goes ter church, I wants ter hear sumfin’ mo’ dan er ole fool nigger er bawlin’. I can holler myself. En dey low I gwine back on my colour. En den I tell ’em I spec I aint so proud dat I can’t larn fum white folks. En dey say dey gwine ter lay fur me yit.” “I’m sorry to hear this,” said the Preacher thoughtfully. “Yassir, hits des lak I tell yer. I spec dey gone fur good. Niggers aint got no sense nohow. I des wish I own ’em erbout er week! Dey gitten madder’n madder et me all de time case I stay at de ole place en wuk fer my po’ sick Mistus. Dey sen’ er Kermittee ter see me mos’ ev’ry day ter ’splain ter me I’se free. De las’ time dey come I lam one on de haid wid er stick er wood erfo dey leave me lone.” “You must be careful, Nelse.” “Yassir, I nebber hurt ’im. Des sorter crack his skull er little ter show ’im what I gwine do wid ’im nex’ time dey come pesterin’ me.” “Have they been back to see you since?” “Dat dey aint. But dey sont me word dey gwine git de Freeman’s Buro atter me. En I sont ’em back word ter sen Mr. Buro right on en I land ’im in de middle er a spell er sickness, des es sho es de Lawd gimme strenk.” “You can’t resist the Freedman’s Bureau, Nelse.” “What dat Buro got ter do wid me, Marse John?” “They’ve got everything to do with you, my boy. They have absolute power over all questions between the Negro and the white man. They can prohibit you from working for a white person without their consent, and they can fix your wages and make your contracts.”