"Sh--sh, talk dat kin' o' low, Mastah, don' 'spress yo'se'f so loud!" and the old man looked fearfully around as if he feared some one might hear the words. The master fell back in his seat in utter surprise. "And, why, I should like to know, may I not speak of your age aloud?" Uncle Simon showed his two or three remaining teeth in a broad grin as he answered: "Well, Mastah, I's 'fraid ol' man Time mought hyeah you an' t'ink he done let me run too long." He chuckled, and his master joined him with a merry peal of laughter. "All right, then, Simon," he said, "I'll try not to give away any of your secrets to old man Time. But isn't your age written down somewhere?" "I reckon it's in dat ol' Bible yo' pa gin me." "Oh, let it alone then, even Time won't find it there." The old man shifted the weight of his body from one leg to the other and stood embarrassedly twirling his ancient hat in his hands. There was evidently something more that he wanted to say. He had not come to exchange commonplaces with his master about age or its ailments. "Well, what is it now, Uncle Simon?" the master asked, heeding the servant's embarrassment, "I know you've come up to ask or tell me something. Have any of your converts been backsliding, or has Buck been misbehaving again?" "No, suh, de converts all seem to be stan'in' strong in de faif, and Buck, he actin' right good now." "Doesn't Lize bring your meals regular, and cook them good?" "Oh, yes, suh, Lize ain' done nuffin'. Dey ain' nuffin' de mattah at de quahtahs, nuffin' 't'al." "Well, what on earth then--" "Hol' on, Mas', hol' on! I done tol' you dey ain' nuffin' de mattah 'mong de people, an' I ain' come to 'plain 'bout nuffin'; but--but--I wants to speak to you 'bout somefin' mighty partic'ler." "Well, go on, because it will soon be time for you to be getting down to the meeting-house to exhort the hands." "Dat's jes' what I want to speak 'bout, dat 'zortin'." "Well, you've been doing it for a good many years now." "Dat's de very idee, dat's in my haid now. Mas' Gawge, huccume you read me so nigh right?" "Oh, that's not reading anything, that's just truth. But what do you mean, Uncle Simon, you don't mean to say that you want to resign. Why what would your old wife think if she was living?" "No, no, Mas' Gawge, I don't ezzactly want to 'sign, but I'd jes' lak to have a few Sundays off." "A few Sundays off! Well, now, I do believe that you are crazy. What on earth put that into your head?" "Nuffin', Mas' Gawge, I wants to be away f'om my Sabbaf labohs fu' a little while, dat's all." "Why, what are the hands going to do for some one to exhort them on Sunday. You know they've got to shout or burst, and it used to be your delight to get them stirred up until all the back field was ringing."