egroes had been bought by an
agent.

"Sarvant, moster!" Alston said humbly, but with dignity.

"Howdy, moster?" was Little Lizay's more familiar salutation.

"I's Als'on, one yer new boys from Ol' Virginny."

"You're a likely-lookin' fellow," said the doctor, who was given to
dropping final consonants in his speech. "I reckon I'll hear a good report
of you from Mr. Buck. You look like you could stan' up to work like a
soldier. But what's brought you and Little Lizay to the city? Anything gone
wrong?"

"Yes, moster," said Alston--"mighty wrong. Look yere, Mos' Hawton: when I
come on yer plantation I made up my min' ter sarve yer faithful--ter wuck
fer yer haud's I could--ter strike ev'ry lick I could fer yer. When I hoed
cawn an' pulled fodder I went 'head er all the han's on yer plantation. But
when I went ter pick cotton I wusn't use ter it. I wuckt haud's I could,
'fo' day an' arter dark. Mos' Hawton, I couldn't pick a poun' more'n I pick
ter save my life. But I wus 'hin' all t'other han's. Then Mos' Buck wus
goin' ter flog me ef I didn't git a hunderd: then Little Lizay, her he'ped
me unbeknownst: ev'ry day she puts cotton in my baskit ter fetch it ter a
hunderd, an' that made her fall 'hin' las' year's pickin'; then ev'ry night
she was stripped an' cowhided; but she kep' on he'pin' me, an' kep' on
gettin' whipped. I dun know what she dun it fer: 'min's me uv the Laud on
the cross."

Dr. Horton knew what she did it for. His knightliness was touched to the
quick. The story made him wish as never before to be a better master than
he had ever been to his poor people. He asked many questions, and drew
forth all the facts, Lizay telling how Alston was helping her while she was
helping him. Dr. Horton saw that here was a romance in slave-life--that the
man and woman were in love with each other.

"Well, if you can't pick cotton," he said to Alston, "what can you do?"

"Mos' anything else, moster. I kin do ev'rything 'bout cawn; I kin split
rails; I kin plough; I kin drive carriage."

"Could you run a cotton-gin?"

"Reckon so, moster: the black folks says it's tolerbul easy."

"Well, now, look here: you and Lizay get some dinner, an' then do you take
a back-trot for the plantation. I'll sen' Buck a note: no, he can't more'n
half read writin'. Well, do you tell him, Alston, to put you to ginnin'
cotton: Little Sam mus' work with you a few days till you get the hang of
the thing; an' then I want you to show that p