"Bress yer, chile, what you s'pose ole Mose keers fur him ef he does git mad? The Cap'en kin rave an' rave, but dis niggar don' mind him more'n ef he was de souf wind, what carn't do nobody any harm."
"But—" Tim began to say, earnestly.
"Never mind 'bout any buts, honey. Yer fixed all right now, an' you go down in de cabin an' go ter work like a man; ole Mose'll keep keer ob de dorg."
Tim knew he had already been away from his post of duty too long, and leaving Tip in the negro's kindly care, he went into the cabin, feeling almost well in mind, although very sore in body.
[to be continued.]
NOT UP IN HIS PART.—Drawn by Sol Eytinge, Jun.