We decided to set out for the plantation at once, and Preston ordered a livery wagon to be got in readiness. While we were waiting for it, I strolled out upon the piazza. I had not been there long before 'young Joe,' Preston's only son, rode up to the hotel. He was a manly lad, about twelve years of age, and in form, features, and manner, a miniature edition of his father. He had grown amazingly since at my house, two years before, and I did not at once recognize him; but as soon as he caught sight of me, he shouted out in boyish glee, throwing his bridle over the hitching post, and springing to the ground. 'Oh, Mr. Kirke! I'm so glad you've come; mother will be _so_ glad to see you. We'll have such a nice time,' and he seized me by the hand, and shook it energetically. 'Why, Joe, I thought you were at home!' 'Oh, no! I'm here at school, but father says I'm to have a vacation while you're here. Why didn't you fetch Frank? You promised you would.' 'I know I did, Joe, but his mother wouldn't let him come; she thinks he's too young to travel.' 'Pshaw! He's old enough--most as old as I am; but never mind, Mr. Kirke; we'll have a fine time, hunting and fishing, and going to the races. They're going to have a big one over to Trenton next week, and I'm dying to go; it's _so_ lucky you've come.' 'Lord bless you, Joe, I never went to a race, and never shot a gun in my life; besides, I can remain only a day or so.' 'Oh, yes, you can; father says you Yorkers are always in a hurry; but you must take it easy now. I'll show you round, and learn you the ropes.' While I was laughing at the enthusiasm of the young lad, the wagon drove up, and Preston soon appearing, we entered it and drove off. As Joe bounded upon his spirited horse and led the way down the elm-shaded street, I said to his father: 'How that boy rides; he's a perfect Centaur.' 'Yes, he _is_ a good horseman. He's been trained to it. You know we think manly exercises an essential part of a gentleman's education.' 'And you let Joe keep his own horse?' 'Yes, it's awfully expensive; but old Joe raised the colt for the boy, and I couldn't deny him.' We rode on until we reached the outskirts of the town, when we stopped before a small, tumble-down shanty, built of rough boards, and roofed with the same material. In the narrow front yard, a large iron pot, supported on two upright poles, was steaming over a light wood fire. The boiling clothes it contained were being stirred by a brawny, coal black negro woman, with an arm like the Farnese Hercules, and a form as stout as Wouter Van Twiller's. The yellow boy, Ally, was heaping wood on the fire. 'How do you do, aunty?' said Preston, as we drew up at the rickety gate.