g
out of range; there would be no chance for a second shot, for now only
a rim of the sun was left. With a wildly beating heart he raised his
gun, took time to aim well,--fired,--and down came his hundredth
squirrel. His wager was won; fatigue and hunger all gone, he hastened
gayly home and with pride emptied his bag before his uncle and his
delighted old grandfather, who loved him above everything, and who
finally made him his heir, so that your grandfather was quite
independent of his own father.

When I first became acquainted with the plantation, the sale crop was
taken down to Plymouth in a great old scow, but this was afterward
superseded by the introduction of freight steamers, which took the
produce direct to Norfolk. These steamers proved to be a great comfort
and convenience to us. By them we might receive anything that we
desired from Norfolk, of which the things most enjoyed were packages
of books,--Vickry and Griffiths, booksellers, having standing orders
to send at their discretion what they thought desirable, besides the
special orders for what we wished to see.

The advent of a steamer at the landing would cause much pleasurable
excitement. If anything of special interest was expected, the first
puff of steam from down the river would be eagerly examined through
the spy-glass. Then would follow several days of busy life down at
the different barns from which the corn was to be shipped. Before the
introduction of the corn-sheller, the corn was beaten from the cob by
men wielding great sticks, or flails; others raked the grain into an
immense pile; from this pile it was measured by select hands and put
into bags, which were carried to the steamer lying at the landing. The
men who measured and kept the tally maintained a constant song or
chant, and designated the _tally_, or fifth bushel, by a sort of yell.
The overseer stood by with pencil and book and scored down each tally
by a peculiar mark. The constant stream of men running back and forth,
with bags empty or full, made a very busy scene.

After the corn had been shipped, the boat had steamed down the river,
and the place, lately so full of busy life, had returned to its
accustomed quiet seclusion, the redbirds came to peck up the corn left
upon the ground. I remember how once, upon a cold, gray afternoon, I
put on my wraps and ran down to the Sycamore Barn, on purpose to
watch the shy, beautiful things. Snowflakes were beginning to fall and
whispe