istering sun beating down upon his uncovered head, and all
unconscious of the departure of his chance passenger, an itinerant
organ-grinder. This fellow, having had the ill luck to lose the
respectable member of the firm, his monkey, and finding difficulty
without the aid of his little partner to attract an audience, had,
while idling about the docks, encountered Boat Jim, and persuaded the
latter to give him a lift up the river, the condition being that he
was to grind as much music as Jim should desire. But, disgusted with
three days of slow progress upon the boat, he had, after viciously
kicking the unconscious Jim, stolen the small boat and put himself
ashore. Following the windings of the creek, he came to the little
mill, where, attracted by the shade, he seated himself close to the
wattle fence of Polly's little yard. Hearing voices, he peeped through
the fence, and his eyes were soon fixed upon little Dave, who, with
the fat baby and Emma Jane for spectators, is performing various
tricks with infinite delight to himself. He stands upon his head, he
turns somersaults, he dances, he pats, and finally he swings himself
into a tree, where he skips about with the agility of a monkey. A
thought comes into the organ-grinder's head; he glances at the silent
mill and at the cabin: evidently both are deserted; here is a chance
to replace the dead monkey.

The sun is sending long shafts of crimson light into the swamp and
glinting upon the millhouse; the high corn, awakening from its midday
torpor, rustles softly to the evening breeze, as Wat and Polly wend
their way homeward. A bucket, lightly poised upon Polly's head, holds
scraps of barbecue and little Dave's promised pie, and, as she draws
near the wattle fence, she thinks, with a pleased smile, of how she
will set it before "de chilluns," when a prolonged howl falls upon her
ears. Recognizing the voice of Emma Jane, she says to herself: "She
hongry, I spek," and trudges on, in nowise disturbed by this familiar
sound. But, when they enter the yard, there is only Emma Jane,
bawling, open-mouthed, beside the baby, who, with the house pig, lies
asleep on the warm sand. The chickens are daintily picking their way
to the house, the old muscovy duck has tucked her head under her wing
for the night, Old Keep, the stump-tailed coon dog, crawls from under
the cabin to greet them. But where is Dave?

The miller carries the sleeping child indoors, followed by the still
bawling