huffling down the street towards him.

The planter was dressed in a suit of butternut, which had become very
much shrunken, from exposure to all kinds of weather. His coat sleeves
did not reach far below his elbows, and there was a considerable space
between the bottom of his breeches and the top of his shoes. He was as
"thin as a rail," and if he stood upright would have been very tall, but
he was bent nearly double. He had a slouched hat on, which partly
concealed his long, lantern-jawed visage, while his shaggy, uncombed
hair fell to his shoulders, and gave one a feeling that it contained
many an inhabitant, like that which caused Burns to write those famous
lines containing the passage:

"Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us,
To see _oursels_ as _ithers_ see us!"

As he came down the street he stopped occasionally and gawked around.

Simon was always ready for fun, and determined to see what the planter
was up to. Accordingly, as they met, Simon said, "Good mornin'!"

"Good mornin'!" replied the gawky.

"Have yer lost summat?" asked Simon.

"Wal, no, stranger, but I wants to git some money changed, and I'll be
durned if I can diskiver a bank in this yar village."

"Bin sellin' niggers, eh?"

"You're out thar," replied the planter. "I've bin sellin' cotton."

"I'm jist the man to help yer! I'm gwine to my bank. Gin me yer money,
and come along with me and I'll change it for yer!"

The gawky was much pleased at Simon's kind attention, and remarking that
"he reckoned he was the squarest man he had met," he turned over his
money--some four hundred dollars--to Simon, and they started off
together to get it changed.

On the road Simon stepped into a saloon with the planter, called up all
the inmates to take a drink, and telling the planter he would be back
with the money in a few minutes, started off.

Fifteen minutes passed away. The planter took several drinks, and began
to think his friend was a long time in getting the money changed, but
supposed he must be detained at the bank. At the end of half an hour he
began to grow decidedly uneasy, but still Simon did not come. At the
expiration of an hour he was furious, and if Simon had fallen into his
hands at that time, he would have doubtless been made mince meat of
unceremoniously.

Simon, on leaving the saloon, had gone to his friend and, out of the
poor planter's funds, had paid him the hundred dollars he owed him, and,
with the three hun