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"An' now, chil'en, efn yer be like Brer Dan'l, an' say yer prars, an' put yer pen'ence in de Lord, yer needn be er fyeard uv no lions; de Lord, he'll take cyar uv yer, an' he'll be mighty proud ter do it. "Now," continued the old man, "we'll close dis meet'n by singing uv er hymn, an' den yer kin all go.
De Lawd knows I say my prars sho't so as to be up an' doin'. Anyhow I doan belebe he likes ter be hollered at so, as dey do in our meetin' an' Unc. says dat sech talk am 'phemous. But dat ain't heah nor dar. We'se gwine right along, honey, ain't we? We'se gwine ter min' our own business jes' as if we'se the bigges' pahners in de town?"
Uncle Isham having consented to this, he put his oxen under the care of a small boy, and collecting in Aunt Patsy's room the five colored women and girls who were in attendance upon her, he conducted "prars," making an extemporaneous petition which comprehended all the probable contingencies of the journey, even to the accident of the right wheel of the cart coming off, which the old man very reverently asserted that he would have lynched with a regular pin instead of a broken poker handle, if he could have found one.
"Miss Dory, Miss Dory!" she exclaimed, clutching the girl's arm with such force that the pail fell to the ground and the berries were spilled, "you ain't gwine for ter sell me to nobody? Say you ain't, an' fo' de Lawd I'll never touch nothin', nor lie, nor sass ole Miss, nor make faces and mumble like she does. I'll be a fust cut nigger, an' say my prars ebery night.
"Some sarmons and prars seem like bread made out ob bran, de bigger de loaf de wuss it is. Unc. says I'se very cole an backsliden, but I'd be a heap colder ef I didn't keep up de wood-pile. "And you help others keep up their wood-piles." "Well, I reckon I does, but dere ain't much 'ligion in dat. Dat's kin' ob human natur which de preacher say am bad, bery bad stuff.
But such ideas didn’t last long, and I’d soon give you up as a goner." "That’s jest what I never did," said Aunt Katy, who still stood near. In the excitement of the moment she had forgotten that she had long thought of "Marster William" as dead; she continued, "A heap of prars I said for him, and it’s chiefly owin’ to them prars, I reckon, that he’s done fished up out of the sea."
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