man, will you? Huh, er pusson would be flingin' way his time ter come projickin wid you; but lemme tell you, I likes er big man. Dar's a heep mo' comferdence ter be put in er hoss den dar is in er fox. Yas, sah, yas. How long you gwinter circle 'roun' in dis yere neighborhood, Mr. Potter?"

Potter replied by gradually unfolding his plan. Old Alf listened with his head turned to one side, like a blackbird that hears the twanging of a fiddlestring. When Potter had concluded, old Alf scratched his head for a moment, and then, addressing John, remarked:

"Dem's calkerlations, I tell you dat. Whut does yo'se'l think erbout it?"

"Fits me so well," John replied, "that I feel like gittin' out thar an' caperin' 'round like er ca'f. I ain't had no chances; Alf, you know that. I have allus been tied down here with er putty short rope, too, an' ain't had er chance ter graze out ter the end uv the line; an' I've pulled agin the rope till my neck is gettin' putty sore, yit knowin' all the time that ef I broke the rope I wouldn't know whar ter go, nor what ter do arter I got thar."

"Talkin' like er floserfer an' er gogerfy an' er rithermertik, now, chile. I thinks it will be er good thing myse'f," old Alf went on. "I knows what edycation is—knows what it is by de lack o' it. Dar's one man dat knows de full wuth o' er dollar, an' dat's de man dat ain't got it."

"You can trust me," said Potter, "to carry out with the utmost faithfulness my part of the contract. Of course, I am a stranger to both of you, but——"

"Jes hol' on er minnit," Alf broke in. "You ain't gwine tell us how hones' you is, I hope."

"Oh, no; for I do not claim to be more honest than the average man is."

"Glad ter yere you say dat, fur de man dat's allus er talkin' 'bout how hones' he is, an' sorter wants ter prove 'fo' anybody dun 'sputed it, is 'spicious o' de fack hisse'f, an' de proof is 'tended ter 'vince his own mine ez much ez it is de folks dat's listenin' ter him. Dar wuz er man in ole North Kliney dat one day while ridin' long de pike come ter er toll gate. De gate wuz open, but dar wa'nt nobody at de house. De man looked way 'cross de fiel', he did, an' he seed de toll-gate keeper at work. He pitched out ober dar, er ha'f mile through de brilin' sun, an' gin de man five cents. 'You'se de hones' man I eber seed,' said de toll-gate keeper, 'ter come all ober dis hot groun' ter gin me five cents.' 'Yas,' said de traveler, sorter drawin' his mouf down like he been eatin' er green pear, 'nobody is mo' hones' den I is.' He went on er way, an' sah, in three munts from dat time he'd dun been sent ter de penytenchy fur stealin' er hoss."

Potter laughed with good-natured uproar—laughed so loud that a bee martin, which had just alighted on the fence, flapped its wings in sudden fright and flew away.

"I am not going about making a show of honesty, Alf," said Potter, when the echo of his merriment had died in the valley.

"Glad to know dat, sah, mighty glad ter know it ef I'se gwine ter hab dealin's wid you. I ken tell de right sort o' man putty nigh ever' time. I'll go inter dis 'rangement, caze we'll hab er lot o' fun 'long wid our work."

"Do you like to fish, Alf?"

"Do er yaller dog like er fried chicken?"

"Well, I rather think he does."

"Uh, huh. Wall den, I likes ter fish."

"Do you like to hunt?"

"Do er muley steer like de sweet grass dat grows in de cornder o' de fence up ergin de bottom rail?"

"It strikes me that he does."

"Uh, huh. Wall, it strikes me dat I likes ter hunt."

"Mr. Potter," said John, "the sun is er goin' down an' its erbout time we wuz eatin' uv er snack. You an' Alf jest keep on er talkin' while I go an' put the vidults on the table."

"Dat's er monster fine boy," said Alf, when John had gone into the house. "He's sorter quiet now caze he ain't much erquainted, but airter while he'll argy er p'int wid you. Dar ain't nobody dat's got er better heart den he has, but lemme tell you, dat white boy ain't erfeerd o' ole Nick hisse'f."

"I have known him but a few hours," Potter replied, "but I have become much attached to him. Where is your daughter. Alf?"

"Ober yander in er cabin on de hillside. Ef you lissun you mout yere her singin', dat is, ef her pains ain't on her. Po' chile, she hab paid mighty dear fur de singin' she's done in dis yere life; but her reward gwine ter come airter while, Mr. Potter. Her crown goin' ter be mighty bright—rubbed bright wid de soft rag o' long sufferin', sah. Huh, my mouf waters now when I think 'bout dem huntin' sprees we'se gwine ter hab; an' lemme tell you, I knows whar de b'ars is way up de riber in de canebrakes, knows zactly whar da uses. John he's got er rifle mighty nigh long ez he is, an' I'se got one deze yere army guns—her name's Nance—dat shoots—wall, when er bullet gits outen dat gun it jes keeps on er goin', it peer like, an' I hab trained her sights down till she shoots right whar I hol's her, too. Dar, John say come on."

They went into the house. Alf did not care for anything to eat. He had eaten just before leaving home, but he found so much satisfaction in seeing his friends eat that he would take a seat near the table and watch the performance. The old negro became more and more interested in Potter, and occasionally, after a sort of digestive contemplation of a remark made by the gigantic guest, he would slowly nod his head in thorough approval. Suddenly he slapped his leg and exclaimed:

"De Lawd is already dun hepped us out on dis yere pilgumage by puttin' me in mine o' de very place we wants. Up de river 'bout six miles frum yere—John, you know de place—dar's er farm o' some sebenty-five acres, er good 'eal o' it dun cleared. Some o' it is in de riber bottom an' is monst'us rich. B'longs ter ole man Sevier dat libes 'bout two mile frum yere. Think we ken git it fur mighty low rent, fur nobody ain't lived on it fur three ur fo' year. How does dem obserwations strike de 'sembly?"

Potter and John were delighted with the prospect of so early a ripening of their hopes. The place was in the edge of a wild section of the country. So much the better. It was at least two miles from any other house. Better still.

"Uncle Jeff won't object to me goin'," said John, "but Aunt Liz will, not 'cause she's afeerd I won't do well, but 'cause——"

"'Cause she's feerd you will," old Alf broke in. "Oh, I knows dat lady. Haw, haw! Knows dat lady frum way back yander way up inter de time whut ain't got yere yit, but dat doan make no diffunce. We'll whittle off all de wrinkles on de ho'n o' her ubjections."

"You are the most figurative man I ever knew," Potter smilingly remarked.

"Oh, no, sah, dat's whar you's wrong. I ain't figertive hardly none. I ken make er figer one an' ken cut er mighty caper wid er figer two, but I kain't add 'em tergedder 'cept I do it in my mine; but let us git down ter dis yere bizness. I'll go ober ter ole man Sevier's dis ebenin' an' tell him ter drap ober yere arly Monday mawnin', an' he'll come, lemme tell you, fur he is ez keen ter let us hab dat place ez we is ter git it. B'lebe I'll go dis minit," he added, taking up his hat. "Good ebenin', 'panions o' de mighty fine enterprise; good ebenin' ter you."

Potter and John talked until a late hour and then went to bed up near the clapboard roof. John soon sank to sleep. Potter lay gazing at the stars that winked through holes in the roof. A whippoorwill sat on the stack chimney and sang a lonesome song, but a cricket came out from under an old trunk,