of the morning, or after a light shower, when the conditions
would be favorable to exertion.

"Annie," said I, "suppose, to relieve the deadly dulness of the
afternoon, that we go out and pull the big watermelon, and send for
Colonel Pemberton's folks to come over and help us eat it."

"Is it ripe, yet?" she inquired sleepily, brushing away a troublesome
fly that had impudently settled on her hair.

"Yes, I think so. I was out yesterday with Julius, and we thumped it,
and concluded it would be fully ripe by tomorrow or next day. But I
think it is perfectly safe to pull it to-day."

"Well, if you are sure, dear, we'll go. But how can we get it up to the
house? It's too big to tote."

"I'll step round to Julius's cabin and ask him to go down with the
wheelbarrow and bring it up," I replied.

Julius was an elderly colored man who worked on the plantation and lived
in a small house on the place, a few rods from my own residence. His
daughter was our cook, and other members of his family served us in
different capacities.

As I turned the corner of the house I saw Julius coming up the lane. He
had on his Sunday clothes, and was probably returning from the afternoon
meeting at the Sandy Run Baptist Church, of which he was a leading
member and deacon.

"Julius," I said, "we are going out to pull the big watermelon, and we
want you to take the wheelbarrow and go with us, and bring it up to the
house."

"Does yer reckon dat watermillun's ripe yit, sah?" said Julius. "Didn'
'pear ter me it went quite plunk enuff yistiddy fer ter be pull' befo'
termorrer."

"I think it is ripe enough, Julius."

"Mawnin' 'ud be a better time fer ter pull it, sah, w'en de night air
an' de jew's done cool' it off nice."

"Probably that's true enough, but we'll put it on ice, and that will
cool it; and I'm afraid if we leave it too long, some one will steal
it."

"I 'spec's dat so," said the old man, with a confirmatory shake of the
head. "Yer takes chances w'en yer pulls it, en' yer takes chances w'en
yer don't. Dey's a lot er po' w'ite trash roun' heah w'at ain' none too
good fer ter steal it. I seed some un' 'em loafin' long de big road on
mer way home fum chu'ch jes' now. I has ter watch mer own chicken-coop
ter keep chick'ns 'nuff fer Sunday eatin'. I'll go en' git de
w'eelborrow."

Julius had a profound contempt for poor whites, and never let slip an
opportunity for expressing it. He assumed that we shared this sentiment,
wh