“’Cose I is. I heah Phil Demby’s fadda say dat he holp ter put him in de amblabus when he wuz shot. He saw de British what shot him, an’ de ve’y bungshot dat hit him. Boss, what glorisome days dem wuz. I kin recommember ’em mehsef. Dese days ’pears ter me dey is spilin’ ev’ything by changin’. An’ hits ergin de Scripturs. Fuh instinct, when I wuz uh young man de Mefodis’ ’roun’ heah use ter hab what dey call meetin’ houses; dey use ter shout an’ moan, an’ moan an’ shout pow’ful. Dey cummence ter pray at fus’ sorf, an’ den deah voice got so strong toreckly you cud heah ’em uh mile orf. An’ de chunes wuz so fine, dey didn’ stop at de corners; dey jes’ swong ’roun’; dey cud turn deah voices same ez uh whirl-win’ an’ ter play de fiddle, dance, er hab uh melojin wuz cornsidered ornry an’ onricheous, an’ hit wuz, too. But in dese days ev’ything is changed in all de chuches, ’ceppin de Babtis’; de only change de Babtis’ made is ter babtize regular in fresh watah in Cap’n Tomlinson’s mill pon’, _’ceppin jes’ befo’ dey cut ice_. You see dey had ter gib up salt watah, de shirks wuz so bad. Mo’n dat, de Bible don’ spressify salt watah. Den ergin Pawson Demby tuck de shirk fright an’ de consequasion wuz he hilt several pussons down too long. Tilly Mink got erligion an’ wuz thinkin’ boutin it so much (jes’ persidderin hit all de time) dat she fogot ter teck outin her dress some apples dat wuz swotuated in huh pocket. Well, Pawson Demby hilt her un’er so long dat she pawed de bottom; almos’ tore huh dress orf, an’ she mout erbin hilt un’er de watah tell she wuz drowned, but she got holt Pawson Demby’s legs, an’ fuh erwhile it ’peared like she wuz babtizin’ him. Brer Billy los’ his specks lars’ spring, so cudn’ see good, an’ when he seed de apples uh bobbin’ up, I s’pose he tho’t dey wuz sperrits, kase he sung out ter Pawson Demby, ‘Jes’ gib huh annubba dip, Pawson Demby, huh sins is cummin’ up fum huh in clustahs;’ but Pawson Demby lef’ well ernuff be well ernuff. Kase Tilly Mink nebba did hab much erligion, an’ when she seed dat distructed frock an’ dem kyart-house apples dat we all knew’d growed in Ole Mars’ archard, huh ’ligion lef’ huh jes’ ez fars ez she got it. Huh hyah riz on huh haid, an’ she talked jes’ scan’lous, an’ ’lowed she gwine ter jine de Presbyters. Well, hit may be fuh de bes’, but uh case orntried is hyard ter jestify.”