ving our hero turning over the soil like a steam-plough.

Strong though Foster was--both of muscle and will--he was but human
after all. In course of time he stopped from sheer exhaustion, flung
down the spade, and, raising himself with his hands stretched up and his
face turned to the sky, he cried--

"God help me! what shall I do?"

Then, dropping his face on his hands, he stood for a considerable time
quite motionless.

"What a fool I was to promise not to try to escape!" he thought, and a
feeling of despair followed the thought, but a certain touch of relief
came when he reflected that at any time he could go boldly to his
master, withdraw the promise, and take the consequences.

He was still standing like a statue, with his hands covering his face,
when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. It was the negro who had
returned to see how he was getting on.

"Look yar, now, Geo'ge," he said in quite a fatherly manner, "dis'll
neber do. My massa buy you to work in de gardin, not to stand like a
statoo washin' its face widout soap or water. We don't want no more
statoos. Got more'n enuff ob marble ones all around. Besides, you
don't make a good statoo--leastwise not wid dem slop clo'es on. Now,
come yar, Geo'ge. I wants a little combersation wid you. I'll preach
you a small sarmin if you'll allow me."

So saying, Peter led his assistant slave into a cool arbour, where
Ben-Ahmed was wont at times to soothe his spirits with a pipe.

"Now, look yar, Geo'ge, dis won't do. I say it once and for all--dis
_won't do_."

"I know it won't, Peter," replied the almost heart-broken middy, with a
sad smile, "you're very kind. I know you take an interest in me, and
I'll try to do better, but I'm not used to spade-work, you know, and--"

"Spade-work!" shouted Peter, laying his huge black hand on Foster's
shoulder, and giving him a squeeze that made him wince, "das not what I
mean. Work! w'y you's done more'n a day's work in one hour, judging by
de work ob or'nary slabes. No, das not it. What's wrong is dat you
don't rightly understand your priv'leges. Das de word, your priv'leges.
Now, look yar. I don't want you to break your heart before de time,
an' fur dat purpus I would remind you dat while dar's life dar's hope.
Moreober, you's got no notion what luck you're in. If a bad massa got
hold ob you, he gib you no noo clo'es, he gib you hard, black bread
'stead o' de good grub what you gits yar. He make you w