said I would.  Then she said she'd forgot her Testament, and left it in the seat at church between two other books, and would I slip out quiet and go there and fetch it to her, and not say nothing to nobody.  I said I would. So I slid out and slipped off up the road, and there warn't anybody at the church, except maybe a hog or two, for there warn't any lock on the door, and hogs likes a puncheon floor in summer-time because it's cool.  If you notice, most folks don't go to church only when they've got to; but a hog is different. Says I to myself, something's up; it ain't natural for a girl to be in such a sweat about a Testament.  So I give it a shake, and out drops a little piece of paper with “HALF-PAST TWO” wrote on it with a pencil.  I ransacked it, but couldn't find anything else.  I couldn't make anything out of that, so I put the paper in the book again, and when I got home and upstairs there was Miss Sophia in her door waiting for me.  She pulled me in and shut the door; then she looked in the Testament till she found the paper, and as soon as she read it she looked glad; and before a body could think she grabbed me and give me a squeeze, and said I was the best boy in the world, and not to tell anybody.  She was mighty red in the face for a minute, and her eyes lighted up, and it made her powerful pretty.  I was a good deal astonished, but when I got my breath I asked her what the paper was about, and she asked me if I had read it, and I said no, and she asked me if I could read writing, and I told her “no, only coarse-hand,” and then she said the paper warn't anything but a book-mark to keep her place, and I might go and play now. I went off down to the river, studying over this thing, and pretty soon I noticed that my nigger was following along behind.  When we was out of sight of the house he looked back and around a second, and then comes a-running, and says: “Mars Jawge, if you'll come down into de swamp I'll show you a whole stack o' water-moccas