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"Dun know for sar-tin, but looks like the pickin' wus heap handier than at fus'. Look yere, Lizay: ef I know'd I'd git more'n a hunderd I'd he'p yer 'long: I'd give yer the balance. Couldn't stave off all the floggin', but I might save yer some licks." "Take kere yer ownse'f, Als'on. I don't min' the las' few licks: they don't never hut bad es the fus' ones."
"Please, Mos' Buck," she said in a low tone, "ef I falls 'hin' myse'f, an' don't git up to them fus' figgers, an' has to git cowhided please, sah, don't let the black folks an' Als'on know 'bout it." Mr. Buck took a hint from this request.
But Edny Ann went on calling: "O Als'on! O Als'on! come yere!" Little Lizay pleaded in a frantic way for silence as she saw Alston coming with long strides up between the cotton-rows toward them. "I wants yer ter ten' ter Lizay," said Edny Ann. "Her's been stealin' yer cotton: see'd 'er do it see'd 'er take a heap er cotton outen yer baskit an' ram it into hern. Did so!"
As she stepped forward Mr. Buck called out, "Als'on!" "Yes, moster," Alston answered. "What yer sneakin' in that thar' corner fer? Come up yere, you " but his vile sentence shall not be finished here. Alston came forward with a statuesque face. "Take this rawhide," was the order he received.
"An' Als'on can't pick cotton fas', nohow, kase he ain't use ter cotton neber see'd none till he come yere an' her know'd he'd git a cowhidin'. It's meaner'n boneset tea," said Edny Ann. "A heap meaner," assented Cat. "Sich puffawmance's wusser'n stealin' acawns frum a blin' hog."
Ev'ry day I's he'ped yer git up ter a hunderd." Alston had stopped picking, both his hands full of cotton, and stood staring in a bewildered way at the girl. "Lizay, is this a fac'?" he said at length. "'Tis so, Als'on; an' ef yer don't lemme he'p yer now yer'll fall 'hin' an' have ter git flogged." "An' ef yer he'p me, yer'll fall shawt an' have ter git flogged.
I ain't tuck a sol'tary lock er Als'on's cotton; an' I wouldn't, nuther, ter save my life." "Reckon yer kin fool me?" demanded the triumphant Edny Ann. Then she called Alston with the O which Southerners inevitably prefix: "O Als'on! O Als'on! come yere! quick!" "Don't, please don't, tell him," Little Lizay pleaded. "I'll give yer my new cal'ker dress ef yer won't tell nobody."
She could never bear it that he should be flogged after all she had done to save him from the shame. She could never live through it the cowhiding of her hero by the detested overseer. Yes, the time had come: she must tell Alston. She went over to where he had begun a new row. "Yer don't b'lieve the tale I tole yistiddy, Als'on: yer's feared I'll steal yer cotton ter-day," she said.
When he had pushed his way through the crowd of negroes hanging about the door of the ginhouse-loft he heard the overseer call, "Whar's that yaller whelp, Als'on?" "Here, sah," Alston answered, hurrying forward to put his basket on the steelyard. "Give me any mo' yer jaw an' I'll lay yer out with the butt-en' er this whip," said Mr. Buck.
Horton at home, having just finished his lunch. They were admitted at once to the dining-room, where the doctor sat picking his teeth. He had never seen Alston, as the new negroes had been bought by an agent. "Sarvant, moster!" Alston said humbly, but with dignity. "Howdy, moster?" was Little Lizay's more familiar salutation. "I's Als'on, one yer new boys from Ol' Virginny."
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