my nigs, and we kalkerlate ef these ar
doin's go eny furder, ter tap no more trees, but cl'ar land an' go ter
raisin' craps.'

'What! do you talk politics with your negroes?'

'Nary a politic; but I'm d--d ef th' critters doan't larn 'em sumhow.
The' knows 'bout as much uv what's goin' on as I du; but plantin' arn't
politics, it's bisness, an' they've more int'rest in it nor I hev,
'cause they've sixteen mouths ter feed agin my four.'

'I'm glad, my friend, that you treat them like men; but I have supposed
they were not well enough informed to have intelligent opinions on such
subjects.'

'Informed! wal, I reckon the' is; all uv mine kin read, an' sum on 'em
kin write, too. D'ye see that little nig thar?' pointing to a juvenile,
coal-black darky of about six years, who was standing before the 'still'
fire; 'thet ar little devil kin read an' speak like a parson. He's got
hold, sumhow, uv my little gal's book o' pieces, an' larned a dozen on
'em. I make him cum inter th' house, once in a while uv an evenin', an'
speechify, an' 'twould do yer soul good ter har him, in his shirt-tail,
with a old sheet wound round him fur a toger (I've told him th'
play-actors du it so down ter Charles'on,) an' spoutin' out: 'My name am
Norval; on de Gruntin' hills my fader feed him hogs!' The little coon
never seed a sheep, an' my wife's told him a flock's a herd, an' he
thinks 'hog' _sounds_ better'n 'flock,' so, contra'y ter th' book, he
puts in 'hogs,' and hogs, you knows, hev ter grunt, so he gits 'em on
th' Gruntin' hills;' and here the kind-hearted native burst into a fit
of uproarious laughter, in which, in spite of myself, I had to join.

When the merriment had somewhat subsided, the turpentine-maker called
out to the little darky:

'Come here, Jim.'

The young chattel ran to him with alacrity, and wedging in between his
legs, placed his little black hands in a free-and-easy way on his
master's knees, and looking up trustfully in his face, said:

'Wal, massa?'

'What's yer name?'

'Dandy Jim, massa.'

'Thet arn't all; what's th'rest?'

'Dandy Jim of ole Car'lina.'

'Who made ye?'

'De good God, massa.'

'No, he didn't; God doan't make little nigs. He makes none but white
folks,' said the master, laughing.

'Yas, he'm do; missus say he'm do; dat he make dis nig jess like he done
little Totty.'

'Wal, he did, Jim. I'm d--d ef _He_ didn't, fur nobody else cud make
_ye!_' replied the man, patting the little wool