stnuts, the lingering green of the oaks, and the
enduring verdure of the pines. The insects still hum in the sunny air,
and the sun is now a genial orb whose warm rays cheer but not excoriate.

The orb just mentioned was approaching the horizon, when, in an
adjoining county to that in which was situated the hospitable mansion of
Midbranch, a little negro boy about ten years old was driving some cows
through a gateway that opened on a public road. The cows, as they were
going homeward, filed willingly through the gateway, which led into a
field, at the far end of which might be dimly discerned a house behind a
mass of foliage; but the boy, whose head and voice were entirely too big
for the rest of him, assailed them with all manner of reproaches and
impellent adjectives, addressing each cow in turn as: "You, sah!" When
the compliant beasts had hustled through, the youngster got upon the
gate, and giving it a push with one bare foot, he swung upon it as far
as it would go; then lifting the end from the surface of the ground he
shut it with a bang, fastened it with a hook, and ran after the cows,
his wild provocatives to bovine haste ringing high into the evening air.

This youth was known as Plez, his whole name being Pleasant Valley, an
inspiration to his mother from the label on a grape box, which had
drifted into that region from the North. He had just stooped to pick up
a clod of earth with which to accentuate his vociferations, when, on
rising, he was astounded by the apparition of an elderly woman wearing a
purple sun-bonnet, and carrying a furled umbrella of the same color.
Behind the spectacles, which were fixed upon him, blazed a pair of fiery
eyes, and the soul of Plez shrivelled and curled up within him. His
downcast eyes were bent upon his upturned toes, the clod dropped from
his limp fingers, and his mouth which had been opened for a yell,
remained open, but the yell had apparently swooned.

The words of the old lady were brief, but her umbrella was full of jerky
menace, and when she left him, and passed on toward the outer gate,
Plez followed the cows to the house with the meekness of a suspected
sheep dog.

The cows had been milked, some by a rotund black woman named Letty, and
some, much to their discomfort, by Plez himself, and it was beginning to
grow dark, when an open spring wagon driven by a colored man, and with a
white man on the back seat came along the road, and stopped at the gate.
The driver