pattern of mixed flax and cotton.
The winter clothing was of wool, taken from our own sheep.

The carpenters at Runiroi were Jim, the head carpenter, Austin, and
Bill, who were all good workmen. Frank, "Boat Frank," as he was
called, from having formerly served as captain of the old
flat-bottomed scow which carried the sale crop to Plymouth, was also
in the shop and did beautiful work. I was fond of visiting Jim's shop
and ordering all sorts of wooden ware, pails, piggins, trays, etc.;
these last, dug out of bowl-gum, were so white that they looked like
ivory. Boat Frank was very proud of the smoothness and polish of his
trays. Our children, with their mammy, were fond of visiting "Uncle
Jim's" shop and playing with such tools as he considered safe for them
to handle, while Mammy, seated upon a box by the small fire, would
indulge in long talks about religion or plantation gossip. That shop
was indeed a typical spot; its sides were lined to the eaves with
choice lumber, arranged systematically so that the green was out of
reach, while that which was seasoned was close at hand. Uncle Jim
would have felt disgraced had a piece of work made of unseasoned wood
left his shop. The smoke from the small fire which burned in the
middle of the big shop, upon the dirt floor, escaped in faint blue
wreaths through the roof, leaving behind it a sweet, pungent odor. The
sun streamed in at the wide-open door, while Jim and Frank tinkered
away leisurely upon plough handles and other implements or household
articles.

Uncle Jim was a preacher as well as a carpenter. He was quite superior
to most of his race, both in sense and principle and was highly
thought of by both white and black. Upon two Sundays in each month he
preached in the church and his sermons were quite remarkable, teaching
in his homely way the necessity of honesty and obedience. His
companion in the shop, Boat Frank, was of a more worldly nature, and
wore great golden hoops in his ears and a red woolen cap upon his
head, and resembled an elderly and crafty ape, as he sat chipping away
at his work.

Next came the blacksmith shop, where Bob wielded the great hammer and
grinned with childish delight at seeing the children's enjoyment when
the sparks flew.

After the blacksmith's shop came the loomhouse, where Scip, the
little fat weaver, threw the shuttles and beat up the homespun cloth
from morning till night; there, too, were the warping-bars, the
winding-blades, an