The scuppernong grapes are ripening very fast and are delicious.
September 6.
I certainly have been rewarded for not going to the mountains, for the mountain coolness has come to me—the weather has been perfect since the day after my decision. This morning Nat came from Casa Bianca looking more cheerful than usual. He told me he had nearly sold my cow Onyx.
I received this rather coldly with the commonplace as to a miss being equal to a mile in such cases. He said Mr. E. had come up with his brother to look at the cow and asked him the price and he answered $27.50, and that the brother took out the money and counted it out into his hands when Mr. E. came up and said:—
"I can make a better bargain with Mrs. Pennington than that. I'll write to her. Take back your money."
"Nat said: 'De money luk very sweet een my han's, but I gie um back to de gen'leman. Yu get letter frum em yet?'"
"No," I said, "but I can't imagine what made you say $27.50 for that cow with her splendid calf. I never said less than $30. I am glad that trade is off."
This was true and yet not true. I never would have sold Onyx for less than $30 myself, but if Nat had brought the smaller sum at this moment I would not have reproved him, as the constant call of the laborers to be paid presses on me daily.
After much wandering talk Nat took from his pocket a roll of money and counted it out to me, saying: "Ef I ain't succeed to sell de cow, I dun sell John Smit fu t'irty dolla'!" and there it was.
I was too thankful for words and yet sorry to part with John Smith, a handsome, long-legged Brahmin steer, who travels like a horse. However, as he is not yet three years old it is a fine sale and I praised Nat accordingly and gave him a dollar. Every time I think I am going to have a fine young pair of oxen I find myself obliged to part with them and be content with my faithful old ones, for there is always good sale for the steers even when nothing else sells.