"You will see the good of it some of these days, Uncle Reuben," laughed Ishmael.
"You will wear yourself out before that day comes, my boy, if you are not careful," answered Reuben.
"I always said the fetched books would be his ruin, and now I know it," put in Hannah.
Ishmael laughed good-humoredly; but Reuben sighed.
"Ishmael, my lad," he said, "if you must read, do, pray, read in the forenoon, instead of working in the garden."
"But what will become of the garden?" inquired Ishmael, with gravity.
"Oh, I can put one of the nigger boys into it."
"And have to pay for his time and not have the work half done at last."
"Well, I had rather it be so, than you should slave yourself to death."
"Oh, but I do not slave myself to death! I like to work in the garden, and I am never happier than when I am engaged there; the garden is beautiful, and the care of it is a great pleasure as well as a great benefit to me; it gives me all the outdoor exercise and recreation that I require to enable me to sit at my writing or reading all the rest of the day."