But the days wore along and he continued to remain, and though I was skillful in my avoidance of him, yet he sometimes confronted me when I least expected it. One afternoon, during the wheat harvest, I was sent to the distillery to get whisky to be served to the hands. Just as the distiller had handed me the full jug, the doctor stepped out and in apparent surprise asked me what I wanted there. I told him that Old Master had sent me for whisky. "I believe you are lying," said he, "but take it and go, and don't fool along the road, either. Do you hear?" I told him that I had no intention of fooling along the road. "That yellow rascal is petted until his fingers and toes stick out," said he to the distiller. "I wanted to take him and make something of him, but they wouldn't let me. But I'll get him yet." "He'd be worth fifteen hundred if he was a little pearter," said the distiller, looking at me as I moved off. "Yes," the doctor agreed, "and an apple tree sprout well laid on would add many a dollar to his worth." I walked as rapidly as I could, but the doctor being on horseback soon overtook me. I wondered what new insult was fermenting in his mind. I had not long to wait. "Boy," said he, riding up, "are you sure you haven't swigged some of that liquor?" "I have not touched it," I answered without looking up. "Stop a minute," he commanded and I obeyed. He looked up and down the road, and then said: "Take out that corn-cob stopper and drink." "It is not for me, sir," I replied. "I don't give a d-- whom it's for; you drink it." I stood near a fence and with one arm resting upon it as I replied: "You want me to get back drunk to bring disgrace upon my Young Master and myself."