Besides being naturally lazy and unwilling for exertion of any kind, _Bill_ was also remarkably tender of said greys, who were his pride, and whom he had named _Fred_ and _Ferd_. On hearing his master’s inquiry, therefore, he looked perfectly aghast, and diving both hands into his matted wool, by way of illustration undoubtedly, replied, “Mighty tough scratchin’, I can tell you, mars’r. Them ponies hain’t been driv, only what I’ve ex’cized ’em for health, for better’n a month, and to run ’em as I’d hev to run ’em, would kill ’em stone dead. No, mars’r, can’t think on’t for a minit,” and as if this were conclusive, and his word the law, Bill stuffed his hands into his bagging trousers, and was walking quietly away, when Mr. Delafield stopped him, saying, “I shall try it at all events. So get out the carriage immediately, and mind you are not over five minutes doing it. Ask some one to help you, if necessary—ho, Jack,” and he called to a ragged mulatto boy who was doing nothing, and bade him assist Bill in harnessing the horses. Rolling his white eyes in utter astonishment at what seemed to him the folly of his master, Bill began to expostulate, “Lor, mars’er, you kill”—— “Silence, and do as I bid you,” said Mr. Delafield, in a tone which Bill thought best to obey, and sauntering off to the stables, he brought out the ponies, who pranced and pawed the ground, while he admired their flowing manes and smooth shining coats. Then seeing Jack standing near, ready to help, he haughtily ordered him away, saying, “Nobody but myself is fit to tache these critters. They’d know in a minit if a low-lived nigger like you came a near.” Nothing loth, Jack walked off, while Bill proceeded leisurely to harness the beautiful animals, talking to them as if they were intelligent beings, and telling them, “never to fear—they wan’t a gwine to be druv to Gusty in two hours, and no sich thing. Bill sot on the box, and ’twas nothin’ to mars’r, who was lollin on the cushions inside.” At this point he was startled by the voice of Mr. Delafield, who, having hastily packed a few articles in his portmanteau, and written a line to his sister, had come out to superintend in person the movements of his servant, whose peculiarities he perfectly understood. “So ho,” said he, “you mean to cheat me do you?” at the same time signifying his intention of having the horse go as fast as he liked. “The Lord help Fred and Ferd then, for Bill can’t,” was the mental ejaculation of the negro as he saw the fire in his master’s eye and knew he must be obeyed. Still he managed to be as slow as possible, insisting that “Ferd allus had to drink two buckets and a half, or he wan’t wuth a dime,” adding in a conciliatory tone, that “with two buckets and a half in him he’d run like lightnin’.”