“Many and many a time, Pole,” Mrs. Baker answered, with a reminiscent glow in her face. “When I was a girl, he used to let our crowd have picnics at his big spring, just below the house, and one rainy day he invited some of us all through it. It was the only time I was ever in as fine a house as that an' it tuck my breath away. Me'n' Lillie Turnbull slipped into the big parlor by ourselves and set down an' made out like we lived thar an' was entertainin' company. She'd rock back an' forth in one o' the big chairs an' pretend she was a fine lady. She was a great mimic, an' she'd call out like thar was servants all around, an' order 'em to fetch 'er cool water an' fan 'er an' the like. Poor Lillie! the last I heard of her she was beggin' bread fer her childern over at Gainesville whar Ned was killed in an' explosion at the cotton-mill whar he'd finally got work.
“I jest started to tell you,” Pole said, “that Nelson Floyd bought that plantation to-day—bought it lock, stock, an' barrel—house, furniture, hosses, implements—everythin'!”
“You don't say!” Mrs. Baker leaned forward, her eyes wide in surprise.
“Yes, he tuck it in out o' the wet with part o' the money he made on that Atlanta deal. An' do you know, Sally, I was right thar in the back end o' his store an' heard 'im contract with a man to manage it fer 'im. The feller is to git three thousand dollars a year in cash—two hundred an' fifty dollars a month, mind you, an' also the use of the big furnished house, an' as much land fer himself as he needed, the use of the buggies an' carriage an' spring-wagon an' barn—in fact, the whole blamed lay-out. He axed me about hirin' the feller an' I told 'im the dem skunk wasn't wuth his salt, but Nelson would have his way. He engaged 'im on the spot.”
“Who was the man, Pole?” there was just a shade of heart-sick envy in the tired countenance of the woman.
“Oh, it was a feller that come up from Atlanta about three days ago,” Pole answered, with his usual readiness. “It seems that him an' Nelson was sorter friends, an' had had dealin's in one way an' another before.”
“Has this—this new man any wife?” Mrs. Baker inquired, as a further evidence of secret reflections.
“Yes—a fine woman, and nice childem, Sally. He seemed to be the only scrub in the bunch.”
Mrs. Baker sighed. “I guess he's got some'n' in 'im,” she said, her eyes cast down, “or Nelson Floyd, with his eye for business, wouldn't 'a' give 'im a mansion like that to live in an' all them wages. He must be an educated man, Pole.”
“No he ain't,” Pole smiled; “he barely kin read an' write an' figure a little; that's all. Sally, the feller's a-settin' right here in this room now. I'm the manager o' that big place, Sally.”