t of a leather hat-box the steeple-crown, where
Meshach Milburn himself always sacredly replaced it. Then "Samson Hat,"
as the boys called him, exercised his brush vigorously, and put the
queer old head-gear in as formal shape as possible, and he silently
attended to its rehabilitation through the medium of the village hatter,
never leaving the shop until the tile had been repaired, and suffering
none whatever to handle it except the mechanic. In addition to this,
Samson cooked his master's food, and performed rough work around the
store, but had no other known qualification for a confidential servant
except his bodily power.

He was now old, probably sixty, but still a most formidable pugilist;
and he had caught, running afoot, the last wild deer in the county.
Though not a drinking man Samson Hat never let a year pass without
having a personal battle with some young, willing, and powerful negro.
His physical and mental system seemed to require some such periodical
indulgence, and he measured every negro who came to town solely in the
light of his prowess. At the appearance of some Herculean or
clean-chested athlete, Samson's eye would kindle, his smile start up,
and his friendly salutation would be: "You're a _good_ man! 'Most as
good as me!" He was never whipped, rumor said, but by an inoffensive
black class-leader whom he challenged and compelled to fight.

"Befo' God, man, I never see you befo'! I'se jined de church! I kint
fight! I never didn't do it!"

"Can't help it, brother!" answered Samson. "You're too _good_ a man to
go froo Somerset County. Square off or you'll ketch it!"

"Den if I must I must! de Lord forgive me!" and after a tremendous
battle the class-leader came off nearly conqueror.

Whenever Samson indulged his gladiatorial propensities he disappeared
into the forest whence he came, and being a free man of mental
independence equal to his nerve, he merely waited in his lonely cabin
until Meshach Milburn sent him word to return. Then silently the old
negro resumed his place, looked contrition, took the few bitter,
overbearing words of his master silently, and brushed the ancient hat.

Meshach kept him respectably dressed, but paid him no wages; the negro
had what he wanted, but wanted little; on more than one occasion the
court had imposed penalties on Samson's breaches of the peace, and he
lay in jail, unsolicitous and proud, until Meshach Milburn paid the
fine, which he did grudgingly; for mon