"No, I don't."
"Reckon yer likes somebody in Virginny more'n yer likes anybody on this plantation."
"I's better 'quainted back thar'," said Alston apologetically.
"But thar' ain't no use hankerin' arter them yer's lef 'hin' yer: reckon yer won't never see um no mo'. Heap better git sati'fied yere. It's a long way back thar', ain't it?"
"A mighty long way," said Alston; and then he was silent, his thoughts going back and back over the long way.
Lizay recalled him: "Was yer sorry yer had ter whip me?"
"I was mighty sorry, Little Lizay," he replied with a strong tone of tenderness that made her heart beat faster. "I would er knocked that white nigger down, but it wouldn't er he'ped nothin'. Things would er jus' been wusser."
"Yes," Lizay assented, "nothin' won't he'p us: ain't no use in nothin'."
"Reckon I'll go in an' go ter sleep," said Alston: "got ter git up early in the mawnin'."
He was up early the next morning, he and Little Lizay being again in the cotton-field before dawn. All through the day there was, as before, persistent devotion to the picking; then the holding on after dusk for one more pound; the same result at night—the man up to the required figure, the woman behind, this time forty-one pounds behind. Again she received a cowhiding at Alston's hands.