My arms had been nearly shaken off, when I noticed 'Boss Joe' limping toward me, his head uncovered, and his broad face shining from out his gray wool like the full moon breaking through a mass of clouds.
'How are you, old gentleman?' I exclaimed, grasping him warmly by the hand.
'Right smart! right smart, massa Kirke. Glad you'm come, sar.'
'And you're home for Christmas?'
'Yes, sar. I'se come to see massa Robert, an' to tend to hirin' a new gang. But darkies 'am high dis yar, sar.'
'How much are they?'
'Well, dey ax, round yere, one fifty, an' 'spences dar an' back; an' it'm a pile, when you tink we hab used up 'most all de new trees.'
'But you must have many second-year cuttings.'
'Yas, right smart; but No. 2 rosum doan't pay at sech prices fur darkies.'
Turning to Preston in a moment, I said: