ht cotton was a wool," Levin said.

"No, boy, cotton is a plant, growin' like a raspberry on a bush, havin'
pushed the blossoms off an' burst the pods below 'em, an' thar it is fur
niggers to pick it. Thar's a Yankee in Georgey made a cotton-gin to gin
it clean, an' now all the world wants some of it."

"Some of the gin?" asked the irrelevant Wonnell.

"No, some of the cotton, Doctor Green! They can't git enough of it.
Eurip is crazy about it, but there ain't niggers enough to pick it all.
So I'm in the nigger trade an' tryin' to be useful to my country, an'
wot does I git fur it? I git looked down on, an' a nigger's pertected
fur a-topperin' of me! But never mind, I'll be a big skull yet, an' keep
my kerrige--in Floredey."

"What's Floredey good fur?" Levin asked.

"It's full of nigger Injins, Simminoles, every one of 'em goin' to be
caught an' branded, an' put at cotton an' tobakker plantin', an' hog an'
cow herdin'. More niggers will be run in from Cubey, an' all the free
niggers in Delaware and up North will be sold, an' you an' me, Levin, is
gwyn to own a drove of 'em an' have a orchard of oranges an' a thousand
acres of cotton in bloom. We'll hold our heads up. Your mother shall be
switched to a nabob. My wife will be a shakester in diamonds. We'll
dispise Cambridge an' Princess Anne, an' there sha'n't be a free nigger
left on the face of the earth. We'll swig to it!"

The sick-headed yet fancy-ridden Levin drank again, and listened to the
dealer's marvellous tales of golden fruit on coasts of indigo, and palms
that sheltered parrots calling to the wild deer. Jack Wonnell took the
helm when Levin lay down to sleep in the little cabin, still lulled by
tales of wealth and lawless daring, and there he slept the deep sleep
of the castaway, when the vessel grounded at dusk, in the sound of
evening church-bells, at Princess Anne.

"Let him sleep," Joe Johnson spoke; "yer, Wonnell, I give you tray of
his strangers to take to his mommy," handing out three gold pieces.
"Don't you forgit it! Yer's a syebuck fur you," giving Jack a sixpence.
"You an' me will part company at Prencess Anne."

CHAPTER XVIII.

UNDER AN OLD BONNET.

Vesta had been sitting half an hour beside her unconscious husband,
listening to his broken speech, and thinking upon the rapidity of events
once started on their course, like eaglets scarcely taught to fly before
they attack and kill, when the sound of carriage-wheels, arrested at