"Drink that," he said; "and if there's any better milk in these parts, I want to know the man."
He looked at me critically, while I emptied the vessel, and seemed to enjoy my heartiness.
"If you had been smart enough to come this way, victorious," added the man, straightforwardly, "instead of being out-generalled, whipped, and driven, I should enjoy the loss of my property a great deal more!"
There was an irresistible heartiness in his tone and manner. He had, evidently, resolved to bear the misfortunes of war bravely.
"You are a Northern man?" I said, inquiringly.
"How do you know?"
"There are no such dairies in Virginia; a Virginian never dipped a mug of milk after your fashion; you haven't the Virginia inflection, and very weak Virginia principles."
The man laughed dryly, and filled himself a cup, which he drank sedately.
"I reckon you are correct," he said; "pretty much correct, any way. I'm a New Yorker, from the Mohawk Valley, and I have been showing these folks how they can't farm. If there's anybody that farms better than I do, I want to know the man!"
He looked at the flowing water, the clean slabs and walls, the shining tins, and smacked his lips satisfactorily. I asked him if he farmed with negroes, and if the prejudices of the country affected either his social or industrial interests. He answered that he was obliged to employ negroes, as he had thrice tried the experiment of working with whites, but with ill success.