at once
recognized as that of 'boss Joe.'

'I shan't pack off till I'm ready, you d--d black nigger, I've been
bossed 'bout by ye long 'nuff. Clar out, and 'tend ter yer own 'fairs,'
rejoined another voice, which had the tone of a white man's.

'I reckon _dis_ am my 'fair, and I shan't leff you git drunk and burn up
no more white rosum yere; so take yerseff off. Ef you don't, I'll make
you blacker nor I is.'

'Put your hand on me, and I'll take the law on ye, _shore_,' returned
the white man.

'Pshaw, you drunken fool, do you s'pose dese darkies would tell on _me_?
Ef dey would, dar word ain't 'lowed in de law; so you trabble. I don't
keer ter handle you, but I shill ef you don't leab widin five minutes.'

What might have followed will not go down in history, for just then
Preston and I, emerging from around the corner of the building, appeared
in view of the belligerents. The native--a respectable specimen of the
class of poor whites--stood in a defiant attitude before the still-fire,
while Joe was seated on a turpentine barrel near, quietly noting the
time by a large silver watch which he held in his hand. He kept on
counting the minutes, and gave no heed to his master's approach, till
Preston said:

'Joe, what's to pay?'

'Nuffin, master Robert, 'cept I'se 'scharged dis man, and he say he
won't gwo.'

'Do as Joseph bids you,' said Preston, turning to the white man, 'take
your pay and go at once.'

The man stammered out a few words with a cringing air, but the planter
cut him short with:

'I want no explanations. If you can't satisfy Joseph, you can't satisfy
me.'

The native then leisurely took down a ragged coat that hung from one of
the timbers, counted over a small roll of bank notes which Joe gave him,
and meekly left the still-house.

Joe and his master devoted the next half hour to piloting me over the
distilleries. I commented rather freely on the sad waste of valuable
produce which was scattered about, and on the bad economy of keeping
three 'stills' to do the work of one.

'It might have done years ago,' I remarked, 'before your trees ran to
'scrape,' and when they yielded enough 'dip' to keep all the stills
busy; but now they are eating you up. You have fully four thousand
dollars idle here. Sell them, Preston--that amount would help you out of
debt.'

'Dat's what I tells master Robert, Mr. Kirke, but he sort o' clings to
ole tings, _sar_,' said Joe, in the free, familiar tone usual wit