he wild creatures, and had decided that it would be an
open winter because the squirrels had left the larger part of the nuts
ungarnered.

At the door of the mill, as he turned the big rusty key in the lock,
he told himself doggedly that since he was not to have Molly, the only
sensible thing was to surrender the thought of her. While he started
a blaze in the stove, and swept the floor with the broomsedge broom he
kept for the purpose, he forced his mind to dwell on the sacks of grist
that stood ready for grinding. The fox-hound puppy, Moses, had followed
him from the house, and sat now over the threshold watching a robin that
hopped warily in the band of sunlight. The robin was in search of a few
grains of buckwheat which had dropped from a measure, and the puppy had
determined that, although he was unable to eat the buckwheat himself, he
would endeavor to prevent the robin from doing so. So intent was he
upon this resolve, that he forgot to bark at an old negro, who drove up
presently in an ancient gig, the harness of which was tied on a decrepit
mule with pieces of rope. The negro had left some corn to be ground,
and as he took his sack of meal from the miller, he let fall a few
lamentations on the general forlorn state of human nature.

"Dish yer livin' is moughty hard, marster, but I reckon we'se all got
ter come ter hit."

"Well, you manage to raise a little good corn anyway, so you ought to be
thankful instead of complaining."

"Dar ain' nuttin' 'tall ter be thankful fur in dat, suh, case de Lawd
He ain' had no mo' ter do wid dat ar co'n den ole Marse Hawtrey way over
yonder at Pipin' Tree. I jes' ris dat ar con' wid my own han' right down
de road at my f'ont do', an' po'd de water on hit outer de pump at my
back un. I'se monst'ous glad ter praise de Lawd fur what He done done,
but I ain' gwine ter gin 'im credit fur de wuk er my own fis' en foot."

"Are you going by Jordan's Journey, uncle? I'd like to send Reuben
Merryweather's buckwheat to him."

"Naw, boss, I ain't a-gwine by dar, caze dat ar Jerdan's Jerney ain got
a good name ter my years. I ain't a-feard er ha'nts by daylight, but
I'se monst'ous feared er badness day er nightime, en hit sutney do pear
ter me like de badness er ole Marse Jonathan done got in de a'r er dat
ar Jerdan's Jerney. Hit's ha'nted by badness, dat's what 'tis, en dar
ain nobody cep'n Gawd A'mought Hisse'f dat kin lay badness."

He went out, stooping under the weight of his ba