d it, "each piece 'll have
one eye ter grow wid an' another ter look on an' see dat everything goes
right."

And then Uncle Tim was brimful of a good many valuable things with which
he was very generous--_advice_, for instance.

He could advise with wisdom upon any number of subjects, such as just at
what time of the moon to make soap so that it would "set" well, how to
find a missing shoat, or the right spot to dig for water.

These were all valuable services; yet cabbages were not always ready to
be cut, potato-planting was not always in season. Often for weeks not a
hog would stray off. Only once in a decade a new well was wanted; and as
to soap-making, it could occur only once during each moon at most.

It is true that between times Uncle Tim gave copious warnings _not_ to
make soap, which was quite a saving of effort and good material.

But whether he was cutting seed potatoes, or advising, or only playing
on his banjo, as he did incessantly between times, his rations came to
the little cabin with clock-like regularity. They came just as regularly
as old Tim _had worked_ when he was young, as regularly as little Tim
_would_ when he should grow up, as it is a pity daily rations cannot
always come to such feeble ones as, whether in their first or second
childhood, are able to render only the service of willingness.

And so we see that the two Tims, as they were often called, had no great
anxieties as to their living, although they were very poor.

The only thing in the world that the old man held as a personal
possession was his old banjo. It was the one thing the little boy
counted on as a precious future property. Often, at all hours of the day
or evening, old Tim could be seen sitting before the cabin, his arms
around the boy, who stood between his knees, while, with eyes closed, he
ran his withered fingers over the strings, picking out the tunes that
best recalled the stories of olden days that he loved to tell into the
little fellow's ear. And sometimes, holding the banjo steady, he would
invite little Tim to try his tiny hands at picking the strings.

"Look out how you snap 'er too sudden!" he would exclaim if the little
fingers moved too freely. "Look out, I say! Dis ain't none o' yo'
pick-me-up-hit-an'-miss banjos, she ain't! An' you mus' learn ter treat
'er wid rispec', caze, when yo' ole gran'dad dies, she gwine be yo'
banjo, an' stan' in his place ter yer!"

And then little Tim, confronted with th