"Kindar col' out sure last night; and hadn't it rained the 'simmons (persimmons) would got some frost on thar eye-brows."
"I shouldn't have let Owen go. But he was so anxious to look for those wild turkeys that I thought it better to give him permission."
"If he stayed out last night he'll have frost in his bones sure," said the negro.
"Well, we shall have to wait and see what has happened," replied the farmer. "But look, Mose," he continued, pointing toward a thin column of smoke rising above the tree tops. "I reckon old Bowen has had another fire. I've been watching that smoke for some time; it is too much for one chimney. The poor old fellow has had his corn-crib burned twice in the last three years. I trust that he has not suffered the loss a third time, for he takes it so hard. I thought he would die of grief the last time his crib was burned."
"It do look jus' like a fire's been burnin' up dar, sure," said Mose.
"I don't understand how his corn-crib is set on fire, for he never lets the men smoke around it."
"Smoke around de corn-crib," replied Mose, with a prolonged emphasis, "why, bless de Lord, he don't let 'em smoke nowhar. He's de holdenest on ole fellar to his money ebber I seed; he don't let dem niggars get 'nough to eat."
"How would you like to work for him?" inquired Mr. Howard.
"'Drudder die right heah on de spot," said Mose.
The breakfast horn blew and the two walked slowly toward the house. At the yard gate they met Uncle Pius. He was always delighted when consulted about matters of grave importance, and ventured his opinion on any subject. He had been watching the smoke for some time, engaged in deep speculation.