I set down one time back in the woods, and had a long think about it.  I says to myself, if a body can get anything they pray for, why don't Deacon Winn get back the money he lost on pork?  Why can't the widow get back her silver snuffbox that was stole?  Why can't Miss Watson fat up? No, says I to my self, there ain't nothing in it.  I went and told the widow about it, and she said the thing a body could get by praying for it was "spiritual gifts."  This was too many for me, but she told me what she meant—I must help other people, and do everything I could for other people, and look out for them all the time, and never think about myself. This was including Miss Watson, as I took it.  I went out in the woods and turned it over in my mind a long time, but I couldn't see no advantage about it—except for the other people; so at last I reckoned I wouldn't worry about it any more, but just let it go.  Sometimes the widow would take me one side and talk about Providence in a way to make a body's mouth water; but maybe next day Miss Watson would take hold and knock it all down again.  I judged I could see that there was two Providences, and a poor chap would stand considerable show with the widow's Providence, but if Miss Watson's got him there warn't no help for him any more.  I thought it all out, and reckoned I would belong to the widow's if he wanted me, though I couldn't make out how he was a-going to be any better off then than what he was before, seeing I was so ignorant, and so kind of low-down and ornery.

Pap he hadn't been seen for more than a year, and that was comfortable for me; I didn't want to see him no more.  He used to always whale me when he was sober and could get his hands on me; though I used to take to the woods most of the time when he was around.  Well, about this time he was found in the river drownded, about twelve mile above town, so people said.  They judged it was him, anyway; said this drownded man was just his size, and was ragged, and had uncommon long hair, which was all like pap; but they couldn't make nothing out of the face, because it had been in the water so long it warn't much like a face at all.  They said he was floating on his back in the water.  They took him and buried him on the bank.  But I warn't comfortable long, because I happened to think of something.  I knowed mighty well that a drownded man don't float on his back, but on his face.  So I knowed, then, that this warn't pap, but a woman dressed up in a man's clothes.  So I was uncomfortable again.  I judged the old man would turn up again by and by, though I wished he wouldn't.