HIS OWN STORY OF A ROMANCE AND ITS ENDING.

Dar ain't no frolic in whut I'm gwine ter tell. I know dat some folks thinks dat er nigger's life is made up o' laziniss an skylarkin', but dat belief, 'specially in my case, ain't de truf. Oh, I had my fun w'en I wuz er youngster. Bless you, dar wa'n't er pusson in de neighborhood dat hankered atter mischief mo' den Dave Summers did, but 'stead o' ole age bringin' dat peace an' rest, which, eben in de libely time o' youth, sensible pussons looks forward ter, dar come trouble o' de blackest sort.

W'en I wuz erbout fifty years ole, de notion got inter my head dat I aughter preach. I doan know how it got dar—sholy not becaze I had been thinkin' erbout it—fur de fust thing I know'd erbout it wuz wakin' up one mawnin' wid de idee. I talked wid some o' my frien's an' da said: "Dave, dat is er call, an' you better not be projickin' wid it. De speret wants yer ter fling yer voice inter de gospul work an' you better not make er Jonah o' yerse'f by tryin' ter run erway."

"But how's I gwine ter preach?" I axed. "It's 'bout ez much ez I ken do ter read."

"De Lawd ain't axed you ter read," one o' my frien's says. "He axes yer ter preach; ef you ken read er little, you ken l'arn how ter read mo'."

I went erway, mighty troubled in my mine. My wife had been dead fur sebrel years, an' not habbin' any chillum I libed by myse'f in er cabin on er big plan'ation. I shet myse'f up an' prayed. De naixt mawnin' my load 'peared ter be heavier. Dar wa'n't nuthin' left fur me, so I says: "I will preach. I will get somebody ter l'arn me how ter read mo' an' I will preach de gospul de bes' I knows how." Den I thought o' my load, but it wuz gone. It wa'n't long till I stood up in de pulpit. Dar wuz sebrel smart men in de church, an' it 'peared ter 'muze 'em might'ly ter yere ez ignunt er man ez I wuz talk erbout heaben an' de souls o' men. Ah, Lawd! ignunce ken fling ez much light on some subjec's ez de greates' 'arthly wisdom ken. I went at my work in earnes', not tryin' ter git up er great 'citement, but 'deavorin' ter show de folks de right way to live in dis worl' so da would be better prepared for de life to come; an' ef dar eber wuz er man dat wuz hones' an' true ter his callin' I b'l'ebes dat I wuz de pusson.

'Mong de members o' my flock wuz er mighty likely 'oman named Frances. I wuz fust drawed toward her by her singin', an' one time when de sweetness o' her music died away, I looked at her an' 'knowledge ter myse'f dat I loved her. At fust she sung fur my soul an' I worshiped wid her, but atter w'ile she sung ter my heart an' I worshiped her. I tried ter think o' my ole wife lying' in de shade o' de sycamo' trees, an, in my min' I could see de rail pen round her grave an' de trees would be gone an' in dar place would stan' a likely 'oman smilin' at me. I went ter my ole wife's grave an' drapped down on my knees an' prayed. De broad sycamo' leaves waved and specks o' moonlight come siftin' down like de flyin' chaff o' new oats dat ketches de light o' de fresh-born day. Er makwin' bird sung in er tree close by, but, way ober on er hill, er night hawk cried. I thought how me an' my ole wife had wucked in the fiel', side by side, an' de bird seemed ter sing sweeter, but den, twixt me an' de grave dar hung er bright smile. I tried ter rub it out wid my han', but dar it hung, an' through its brightness I seed de worm-eat head-boa'd o' de grave. "O, Lawd," I prayed, "let dis tem'tation pass erway. Let dy sarvent in his ole age hab de strenth ter turn fum de high-strung follies o' de young man." I riz up, wid de damp, dead grass clingin' ter my knees. De lights gunter shine fum de church close by, an' de sad an' swellin' song o' de congregation peared ter lay er tremblin' han' on my heart. Why did I on er sudden lean ergin er tree? Becaze I heard her voice. I went inter de church an' ez I walked wid bowed head toward de pulpit I heard somebody whisper "He's been in de woods ter pray." I did not look up but I knowed who it wuz dat whispered, for my heart felt de tech o' de tremblin' han'. I preached dat night de best I could, an' it seemed dat I made my hearers feel some o' my own sadness, fur w'en I called fur de stricken in heart ter come up ter de mou'ners' bench, mo' come forward den had eber come befo' under de 'fluence o' my callin'. We stayed late in de church dat night. Nearly all de mou'ners, habin' wuck ter do de naixt day, had dun left de house w'en I noticed one po' feller whose heart, it 'peared like, wuz almos' broke. He lay flat on de flo' an' groaned like he suffered great pain. I went ter him, raised him up an' hil' his head on my knee. De congregation thinned out, one by one. I leaned over an' talked ter de po' man. Lookin' up I seed dat Frances was kneelin' wid us.

"Lady—Sister Frances," I said, "it's time dat you wuz goin' home. De can'les is all burned away an' de lamps is goin' out."

"I will stay an' he'p you poor de ba'm on dis po' sinner," she replied.

I didn' say no mo'; but w'en mo' den er hour afterwards de sinner got up ter go, I says ter her:

"Sister Frances, if you ain't got no 'jections, I'll walk home wid you."

She smiled—de same smile dat I had seed twixt me an' de worm-eat head-boa'd o' de grave—an' said dat she would be pleased for me ter 'company her. I doan know what I said ter her ez we walked erlong, but I know dat w'en we got ter de little gate in front o' de cabin w'ar her folks libed, she wuz leanin' on my arm. De moon had gone down, an' de flutterin' in de trees in de yard told me dat de mawnin' birds wuz fixin' ter begin dar twitterin'.

"Brudder Summers," said de lady, ez I wuz erbout ter bid her good-bye, "dar 'pears ter be sunthin' on yo' mine."

"Not only on my mine, Sister Frances, but dar is sunthin' on my heart."

I was goin' ter turn erway atter dis, but she put her han' on my arm—de same tremblin' han' dat had teched my heart—an' said:

"Tell me 'bout yo' troubles. Tell me whut is lyin' on yo' heart."

"Er tremblin' han', lady."

"Does you know dat it is er han'?"

"Yas, fur I keen see it in de light o' 'er bright smile."

"Is de han' cold?"

"No, lady."

"Is it ez wa'm ez mine?" she said, ez she put her han' in my own fever-like grasp. De naixt minit my arm wuz around her. De mawnin' birds twittered in de trees, light gunter wink ercross de bottoms, an' dar, ez de gold o' de day wuz chasin' de fleetin' silver o' de dawn, I axed her ter be my wife.