“Do you do any work?” “Yes, suh; I totes water, an’ I drives de cows ter de pastur’, an’ I keeps off de calfs, an’ I runs de chickens out ’n de gyardin.” The sprightly and intelligent appearance of the lad evidently made a favorable impression on the master, for he beckoned to him and said:— “Come in here; I want to show you something.” The negro dropped his hat on the ground and followed Mr. Cozart, who led the way to the darkened room where Berrien, the baby, was having his first experience with existence. He lay on the nurse’s lap, with blinking eyes and red and wrinkled face, trying to find his mouth with his fists. The nurse, black as she was, was officious, and when she saw the negro boy she exclaimed:— “Balaam, w’at you doin’ in yere? Take yo’se’f right out! Dis ain’t no place fer you.” “Marster says so,” said Balaam, sententiously. “Balaam,” said Mr. Cozart, “this baby will be your master. I want you to look after him and take care of him.” “Yes, suh,” said Balaam, regarding his new master with both interest and curiosity. “He look like he older dan w’at he is.” With that Balaam retreated to the negro quarters, where he had a strange tale to tell the other children about the new white baby. Berrien grew and thrived, and when he was a year old Balaam took charge of him, and the two soon became devoted to each other. The negro would take the child on his back and carry him from one end of the plantation to the other, and Berrien was never happy unless Balaam was somewhere in sight. Once, when it was found necessary to correct Balaam with a switch for some boyish offense, his young master fell on the floor in a convulsion of rage and grief. This manifestation made such an impression on the family that no further attempt was ever made to punish Balaam; and so the two grew up together—the young master with a temper of extreme violence and an obstinacy that had no bounds, and the negro with an independence and a fearlessness extremely rare among slaves. It was observed by all, and was a cause of special wonder among the negroes, that, in spite of Berrien Cozart’s violent temper, he never turned his hand against Balaam, not even when he was too young to reason about the matter. Sometimes, when he was seen throwing stones in a peculiarly vicious way at a tree, or at the chickens, or at some of the other children, the older negroes would laughingly shake their heads at one another and say that the child was mad with Balaam. These queer relations between master and slave grew stronger as the two grew older. When Berrien was ten and Balaam twenty they were even more inseparable than they had been when the negro was trudging about the plantation with his young master on his back. At that time Balaam was not allowed to sleep in the big house; but when Berrien was ten he had a room to himself, and the negro slept on a pallet by the side of the bed.