"Speakin' about this yere vacillatin' Tom," said the old gentleman, as he watched that person disappear, "shiftin' his religious grazin' ground that a-way, let me tell you. Them colored folks pulls on an' pulls off their beliefs as easy as a Mexican. An' their faith never gets in their way; them tenets never seems to get between their hocks an' trip 'em up in anythin' they wants to do. They goes rangin' 'round, draggin' them religious lariats of theirs, an' I never yet beholds that church which can drive any picket pin of doctrines, or prodooce any hobbles of a creed, that'll hold a Mexican or a nigger, or keep him from prancin' out after the first notion that nods or beckons to him. Thar's no whim an' no fancy which can make so light a wagon-track he won't follow it off. "Speakin' of churches that a-way: This yere Tom's been with me years. One day about two months ago, he fronts up to me an' says: "'I'se got to be mighty careful what I does now; I'se done j'ined. I gives my soul to heaven on high last night, an' wrops myse'f tight an' fast in bonds of savin' grace wid d' Presbyter'an chu'ch. Yes, sah, I'm a christian, an' I don't want no one, incloodin' mysc'f, to go forgettin' it.' "This yere news don't weigh on me partic'lar, an' I makes no comments. It's three weeks later when Tom cuts loose another commoonication. "'You rec'llects,' he says, 'about me bein' a j'iner an' hookin' up wid d' Presbyter'ans? Well, I'se done shook 'em; I quit that sanchooary for d' Mefodis.' D' Presbyter'an is a heap too gloomy a religion for a niggah, sah. Dey lams loose at me wid foreord'nation an' preedest'nation, an' how d' bad place is paved wid chil'ens skulls, an' how so many is called, an' only one in a billion beats d' gate; an' fin'lly, las' Sunday, B'rer Peters, he's d' preacher, he ups an' p'ints at me in speshul an' says he sees in a dream how I'm b'ar-hung an' breeze-shaken over hell; an', sah, he simply scare dis niggah to where I jest lay down in d' pew an' howl. After I'se done lamented till my heart's broke, I passes in my resignation, an' now I'se gone an' done attach myse'f to d' Mefodis'. Thar's a deal mo' sunshine among d' Mefodis' folks, an' d' game's a mighty sight easier. All you does is get sprunkled, an' thar you be, in wid d' sheep, kerzip!' "In less'n a month Tom opens up on them religious topics once more. I allers allows him to talk as long an' as much as ever he likes, as you-all couldn't stop him none without buckin' an' gaggin' him, so what's the use? "'I aims to excuse myse'f to you, sah,' says Tom this last time, 'for them misstatements about me leavin' d' Presbyter'ans for d' Mefodis.' I does do it for troo, but now I'se gone over, wool an' weskit, to d' Baptis'. An', sah, I feels mighty penitent an' promisin', I does; I'm gwine to make a stick of it dis time. It's resky to go changin' about from one fold to the other like I'se been doin'; a man might die between, an' then where is he?'