“'I've always done my tradin' heer,' said the feller, thinkin' that ud sorter pacify Pole, but he said: 'Yes, an' yore stealin', too, I reckon, you black-livered jailbird. Git out, git out!' “Me 'n' Neil come in when the feller'd gone, but Pole was actually too mad to speak. 'He got off too durned light,' he said, after a while. 'I could 'a' sold 'im a big bill o' goods at a hundred per cent, profit, fer he had plenty o' money. Now he's ridin' off laughin' at me.'” X [Illustration: 9086] EIL FILMORE'S store was about half a mile from Bishop's house, at the crossing of the Darley road and another leading into East Tennessee. Alan had gone down there one day to engage white labor to work in his growing cotton, negroes being scarce, owing to the tendency of that race to flock into the towns. With the aid of Pole Baker, who was clerking that day for Filmore, he soon employed the men he wanted and started to walk back home. On the way he was overtaken by his uncle, who was returning from Darley in his wagon. “Hold on thar,” the old man called out; “ef you are a-goin' home I 'll rest yore legs.” Alan smiled as he climbed up into the seat by the old man. “I shall certainly appreciate it,” he said. “I'm tired out to-day.” “I sorter thought you looked flabbergasted,” returned Abner, as he swung his whip over the backs of his sleek horses. “Well, I reckon I could afford to give you a ride. I hauled that cuss Dole three miles goin' t'other way. He had the cheek to yell at me from Habbersham's gin-house an' axed me ef I'd haul 'im. Then he kept me waitin' till he'd helt prayer an' read to the family.” “You don't seem to like him,” said Alan. “I've noticed that for some time.”