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A long prayer followed which even moved old Tobe, for Aun' Sheba had shaken his self-confidence terribly. The little company broke up with hand-shaking all around, Tobe saying: "Sister Buggone, I bears no ill-will. I'se gwine ter look inter my speritool frame, an' ef I cotch de debil playin' hob wid me he's gwine to be put out, hoof an' horns."
Mr. Birdsall was hot, tired, and incensed himself, and so was in a mood to listen to their representations. "Hit's time dis yere scan'el was r'moved," said Tobe, solemnly. "We mus'purge ourselves. Mr. Buggone should be sot on, an' 'spended at de berry leas'; an' ter make de right 'pression on oders dat's gettin' weak in dere speritool jints, I move we sot on Mr. Buggone's case to-morrer ebenin'."
Buggone, de Bible says dat dem dat doesn't wuck mus'n't eat, an' I'se gwine ter stick ter de Bible troo tick an' tin. You'se able to wuck as I be, an' you'se 'lowance now 'pends on you'se wuck." We have already seen that Uncle Sheba was one of those philosophers who always submit to the inevitable.
He's been 'spostulated an' 'monstrated with, an' 'zorted so often dat he's hardened an' his conscience zeered wid a hot iron. We'se jes' got to take sich sinners in han', or de paster-lot won't hole de flock no mo'. I move we take steps to s'pend Mr. Buggone." "Secon' dat motion," said one of his followers promptly. "Mr. an' Mis Buggone, have you nothin' to say?" asked Mr. Birdsall sadly.
But dar's a heap ob good people, Mis' Buggone, who think dey can run dis po' machine ob a body in a way dat would wear out wrought-iron, and den pray de good Lawd ter keep it strong and iled and right up to the top-notch ob po'r.
Now I gwine ter 'fess de truf. I gave Mr. Buggone an extra Sunday dinner yistidy. I was puff up wid pride kase business was good, an' I bress de Lawd fer prosperin' me. Den like a fool I 'dulge myself and I 'dulge Mr. Buggone.
"Dat's whar I jes' doesn't 'gree wid Aun' Sheba," put in her husband as she paused a moment for breath. He felt that public opinion was veering over to his side and might be employed to enforce his views. "It is all bery well fer one ter do all dey can 'sistently fer oders, but " "Mr. Buggone," remarked Aun' Sheba sternly.
The same might be said of her, for when her husband, then a stranger, poured forth, in one of their evening meetings, the great rich volume of his voice, she ceased to sing that she might listen with avidity. It was not long after that before Kern mustered courage to ask "Miss Buggone, mout I hab de pleasure ob 'companyin' you home?"
He and Sam procured a small cooking-stove, and also set up the cross-sticks of a gypsy camp before the open side of the awning. Aun' Sheba was placed in charge of the provisions, a responsibility in which Uncle Sheba wished to share, but she said severely, "Mr. Buggone, you'se dun git yer lowance wid Sissy an' de chil'n." Mr.
Aun' Sheba had heard and recognized his voice, and she went through the throng like a puffing tug through driftwood. "Mister Buggone," she said, with the sternness of fate, "ef yer doan stop yer noise you'se 'lowance stop heah and now. Yer'll hab ter wuck shuah or starbe, fer if yer doan come wid me now yer neber come agin." Uncle Sheba went away with her, meek as a lamb.
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