d it was a
"hunderd, but a mighty tight squeeze," while Little Lizay's had gained
three pounds on the last weight.

"Yer saved six lashes ter-day, Little Lizay," Alston said. He was evidently
glad for her, and her hungry heart was glad that he cared.

"An' yer didn't haudly git clear," she replied, adding to herself that
to-morrow she must be more generous with her help to Alston.

But on the morrow something occurred which dismayed the girl. She had
shaken her sack over Alston's basket, designing to empty a third of its
contents there, and then the remainder in her "pick." But the cotton was
closely packed in the sack, and almost the whole of it tumbled in a compact
mass into Alston's basket. He would not need so much help as this to ensure
him, so she proceeded to transfer a portion of the heap to her basket.
Suddenly she started as though shot. Some one was calling to her and making
a terrible accusation. The some one was Edny Ann: "Yer's stealin' thar': I
see'd yer do it--see'd yer takin' cotton outen Als'on's baskit. Ain't yer
shame, yer yaller good-fer-nuffin'? I's gwine ter tell." This was the
terrible accusation.

"Yer dun know nothin' 'tall 'bout it," said Little Lizay. "It's my cotton.
I emptied it in Als'on's baskit when I didn't go ter do it. I ain't tuck a
sol'tary lock er Als'on's cotton; an' I wouldn't, nuther, ter save my
life."

"Reckon yer kin fool me?" demanded the triumphant Edny Ann. Then she called
Alston with the _O_ which Southerners inevitably prefix: "O Als'on! O
Als'on! come yere! quick!"

"Don't, please don't, tell him," Little Lizay pleaded. "I'll give yer my
new cal'ker dress ef yer won't tell nobody."

But Edny Ann went on calling: "O Als'on! O Als'on! come yere!"

Little Lizay pleaded in a frantic way for silence as she saw Alston coming
with long strides up between the cotton-rows toward them.

"I wants yer ter ten' ter Lizay," said Edny Ann. "Her's been stealin' yer
cotton: see'd 'er do it--see'd 'er take a heap er cotton outen yer baskit
an' ram it into hern. Did so!"

Then you should have seen the man's face. Had it been white you could not
have discerned any plainer the surprise, the disappointment, the grief.
Lizay saw with an indefinable thrill the sadness in his eyes, heard the
grief in his voice.

"I didn't reckon yer'd do sich a thing, Lizay," he said. "I know it's
mighty haud on yer, gittin' cowhided ev'ry night, but stealin' ain't goin'
ter he'p it, Lizay."

"I