"An unlucky day, Sambo, is it?" answered his master; "faith, I think every day has been precious unlucky to us for the last eight months."
The negro shook his woolly head, and showed two rows of white teeth.
"Friday bery unlucky day, massa," he said.
"But," answered Brown, laughing, "if it's an unlucky day for leaving this place, I suppose it's just as unlucky for staying and doing another turn at the pickax."
"Don't know that, massa," said the negro, "but Friday bery unlucky day."
"I'll tell you what, then," continued Brown, "suppose we take Sambo's advice, for once in a way, Smith, and put off moving to new quarters till the day after to-morrow. We can spend to-morrow in digging the ground about that little creek three miles to the east of this. You remember our passing the spot once on our way home after a hard day's work."
"Perfectly! A miserable, unlikely-looking place enough; I don't fancy if we dug for a twelvemonth we should ever get any good out of it. However, we've wasted so many days that we can't grudge one more, so I'm quite agreeable to stop."
"So be it, then," answered Brown. "Sambo, get our tools in order before you go to bed, and be sure you call us early to-morrow morning."
The two friends flung themselves down upon a couple of rough straw mattresses, and the negro brought out a heap of dried grass and withered leaves which served him as a bed, and upon which he laid himself down after carefully preparing the tools for the morning's work.
The two diggers, before they lay down, offered up a short but heartfelt prayer, that heaven would be pleased to smile upon their honest endeavors and bless their labors.