I The fellow turned and came
back towards us, ducking his old white hat. His face was just
like the rest of him: there was no expression in it but an
expression of limp submissiveness.
"Sambo, your mistress wants to speak to you."
"Yes, massa. I's George, massa."
"George," said I, "I want to know where you go to church?"
"Yes, missis. What missis want to know?"
"Where do you and all the rest go to church?"
"Reckon don't go nowhar, missis."
"Don't you ever go to church?"
"Church for white folks, missis; bery far; long ways to ride."
"But you and the rest of the people — don't you go anywhere to
church? to hear preaching?"
"Reckon not, missis. De preachin's don't come dis way,
likely."
"Can you read the Bible, George?"
"Dunno read, missis. Never had no larnin'."
"Then don't you know anything about what is in the Bible?
don't you know about Jesus?"
"Reckon don't know not'ing, missis."
"About Jesus?" said I again.
" 'Clar, missis, dis nigger don't know not'ing, but de rice and
de corn.
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