e had him dar, ha! ha!'

Here Joe for some minutes was unable to continue the narrative. His
merriment was contagious. I laughed till my sides were sore, and Preston
enjoyed the story quite as much as I did.

'Well, what was the end of it?' I asked.

'Only, master Robert hed to be toted off to Newbern dat night, git bail
or sleep in de jail, and de next mornin', af'er de nig hed a hed ten
yars' use ob heseff fur nuffin, master Robert hed to do what _he'd_ a
said, an' his fader afore him hed said, dey neber would do--dat is, take
two fifty fur de oder half ob Cale! Ha! ha! De next time I gwoes to
Newbern I hunt Cale up, an' I tell him he must study fur de law, shore;
an' dat ef he done it, I know'd master Robert would pay de 'spences, out
ob lub to de country.'

The negroes who were attending the still had dropped their work to
listen to Joe's story, and at its close guffawed in a chorus that made
the woods ring. Hearing it, Joe sprang to his feet, shouting out:
'Yere--'bout you' wuck dar; leff me kotch you eavesdroppin' on gemmen
agin, an' I'll gib you what I gabe Cale. 'Bout you' wuck, I say.' They
turned nimbly to their tasks, and Joe resumed his seat.

'I see the moral of that story, Preston,' I said, when the negro had
concluded.

'What is it?'

'That a darky may be as smart as a white man. Cale outwitted you.'

'Well, he did,' he replied, laughing; 'but that isn't the moral: it is
that flogging never accomplishes its object.'

'I'm not so sure of that. Joe had brought Cale to terms, 'made a decent
nigger on him,' when you, unluckily, interfered.'

'It ain't so much de floggin' on 'em, Mr. Kirke,' said Joe, 'as dar
knowin' dat you _will_ do it ef dey desarve it. Dar ain't a darky on de
plantation dat don't know master Robert an' de good missus 'ould rader
be flogged demselves dan flog dem; an' dat wucks bad, Mr. Kirke, sorry
bad;' and the negro shook his head with a grave, thoughtful air.

'Tell me, Preston,' I said, after a slight pause, 'how is it that your
neighbor Dawsey, with only seventy-five negroes, sends us more produce
than you do with a hundred and fifty?'

'Simply because he treats his hands like brutes, while I treat mine like
men.'

'I hope you'll take no offence,' I replied, 'but it appears to me there
must be some other reason. He has only _half_ your number.'

'Well, I will tell you how he and I manage, and you can judge for
yourself. Dawsey has seventy-five slaves; forty child-bear