The plantation work went on smoothly without Micajah’s presence, much to the disgust of Milly, his wife, who had been reprimanded more than once for berating Cage about his trifling ways. Micajah got his little nigger from over the river—one who had never seen him before, and who was as thoroughly abject and respectful as even Cage could wish; so the latter’s joy knew no bounds, and he was rapidly demonstrating, to his master’s great amusement, the close kinship of the tyrant and the slave. Micajah’s freedom was a matter of wonderment to the negroes as he looked upon them at their work for a moment with a supercilious air, and made some dignified remark, with his book held carelessly under his arm, “perzackly lack Ole Marse,” Cage gleefully congratulated himself—for Cage was wonderfully changed, changed to befit his new condition; and as he turned, followed by the bearer of the palm-leaf fan, many were the envious glances cast. Such ease, such glory, such a blended dream of shade, watermelons, and cob pipes smoked undisturbed, varied by the unspeakable delight of “cussin’” and yelling at the little negro! [Illustration: “PERZACKLY LIKE OLE MARSE”] But even this Arcadia had its shadow, for Cage had never had the ecstasy of flinging a boot-jack at his little slave. Boots and their accompaniment had been part of the requirements which his master had provided, with the promise that the jack could be flung if the boots were worn; but Cage had been an unshod child of nature, for in that equable climate a foot-covering at any season of the year was only a matter of effect, and the exquisite agony of the pegged cowskins was more than he could bear, even with his freedom; so, by her master’s direction, boots and jack were carried triumphantly back to the plantation store by Milly, who was more than happy to thus pluck one feather from the wing of freedom. Milly in these last few days seriously questioned within herself the wisdom of Old Marse’s experiment, for it had very much upset the domestic equilibrium; but Milly was a philosopher too, in an humble way, and under the existing circumstances she resolved to make an experiment also, the issue of which she was more certain of than Ole Marse was of his. “Think I gwine hab Cage layin’ roun’ here in de shade er w’arin’ er broadclorf ever’ day—an’ Ole Marse ain’ do dat—an’ er-settin’ up he ole foots ter be fanned lack dey was sumpen, an’ dey es big es all out-doo’s, an’ he er-pesterin’ me ’bout he fried chicken fur dinner lack he were white—an’ dey sen’ hit ter him, too. My Lord! Um—Ole Marse done los’ he head ter ’low dat; but I hain’t los’ mine, sho mun, and I gwine git eben wid Cage. Talkin’ ’bout freedom dis an’ freedom dat, an’ erlowin’ dat hit sumpen dat Milly cain’t git. Um—if hit make er body es low-down an’ es triflin’ es Cage be, I lay I don’ want hit!” * * * * *