"You sho'ly don't mean it comes to sixteen dollars ev'y week," said the woman, taking the cob pipe out for the first time, long enough to spit and wipe her mouth on the back of her hand, "an' all in silver an' all our'n?" she asked. "Why that thar is mo' money'n we've seed this year. What do you say to tryin' it, Josiah?" Josiah was willing. "You see," he added, "we needn't stay thar longer'n a year or so. We'll git the money an' then come back an' buy a good piece of land." Suddenly he stopped and fired this point blank at Jud: "But see heah, Mister-man, is thar any niggers thar? Do we hafter wuck with niggers?" Jud looked indignant. It was enough. At the end of an hour the family head had signed for a five years' contract. They would move the next week. "Cash--think of it--cash ever' week. An' in silver, too," said the woman. "Why, I dunno hardly how it'll feel. I'm afeared it mou't gin me the eetch." Jud, when he left, had induced their parents to sell five children into slavery for five years. It meant for life. And both parents declared when he left that never before had they "seed sech a nice man." Jud had nearly reached the town when he passed, high up on the level plateau by which the mountain road now ran, the comfortable home of Elder Butts. Peach and apple trees adorned the yard, while bee-hives sat in a corner under the shade of them behind the cottage. The tinkle of a sheep bell told of a flock of sheep nearby. A neatly painted new wagon stood under the shed by the house, and all around was an air of thrift and work. "Now if I cu'd git that Butts family," he mused, "I'd have something to crow about when I got back to Kingsley to-night. He's got a little farm an' is well to do an' is thrifty, an' if I cu'd only git that class started in the mill an' contented to wuck there, it 'ud open up a new class of people. There's that Archie B.--confound him, he cu'd run ten machines at onct and never know it. I'd like to sweat that bottled mischief out of him a year or two. "Hello!" Jud drew his horse up with a jerk. Above him, with legs locked, high up around the body of a dead willow, his seat the stump of a broken bough and fully twenty feet above the employment agent's head, sat Archie B., a freckled-faced lad, with fiery red hair and a world of fun in his blue eyes. He was one of the Butts twins and the very object of the Whipper-in's thoughts. From his head to his feet he had on but three garments--a small, battered, all-wool hat, a coarse cotton shirt, wide open at the neck, and a pair of jeans pants which came to his knees. But in the pockets of his pants were small samples of everything of wood and field, from shells of rare bird eggs to a small supply of Gypsy Juice. His pockets were miniature museums of nature. No one but a small boy, bent on fun, knows what Gypsy Juice is. No adult has ever been able to procure its formula and no small boy in the South cares, so long as he can get it.