I was in hopes of hearing something more said, for there was just a taint of mystery in the nature of the dialogue to which I had commenced listening. Who could the man be that took such an interest in the bulk of the flat-boat, and the shipment of Squire Woodley's cotton?
Perhaps the overseer of the plantation?
This was a man I had only spoken to once or twice, but with whose voice I was not enough familiar, to account for the fancy of my having heard it before.
I was forced to be satisfied with the conjecture, for the two men no longer conversed aloud, but in a tone so low, I could not make out what they said.
After standing a few seconds to satisfy themselves that they were alone on the path, they moved on again, and were soon entirely out of my hearing.
As I continued toward the house, I could not help dwelling upon the incident, trifling as it might appear. The voice of the second speaker still kept vibrating in my ear, although it otherwise defied identification. I did not feel convinced of its being that of the overseer.
On reaching the plantation-house I had evidence to the contrary. The man was there himself, standing by the gate! He could not have got to the ground before me.
I found Walter Woodley at home, and related to him the scraps of conversation I had overheard.
"Some of our neighbors," he said, with a careless laugh, "who take this interest in our affairs, though I can not tell which of them I am to thank for being such a well-wisher. Ah! I fancy I can explain it. We propose to allow a percentage on every bale that reaches New Orleans without getting wet or otherwise damaged. Likely enough it's some friend of Black, the boatman, who's been congratulating him on his chance of making a good thing of it.
"By the way," continued the young planter, changing the subject, "I've been down by Neal's ferry since dinner, and who do you suppose I should see crossing there?"