'Dat sot me a tinkin'; fur de fac wus, I'd nary right to flog _his_ half; but den it 'curred ter me dat none but darkies wus roun', an' so I tought I had him, _shore_. Well, I puts on de lashes, an' he keeps a tellin' me he'd hab de law on me, which make me sort o' 'zasparated, till I put 'em on right smart, an' at lass he gib in. Well, w'en I'd a got him a feelin' 'bout right, an' wus only jess puttin' de lass blows on to finish up makin' a decent nigger ob him, master Robert he come up, and when he seed de blood a runnin' down his back, he say Cale had been whipped 'bout 'nough, and I must stop. Cale turned up missin' dat night, an' got off to Newbern; an' shore 'nuff, de next evenin', long 'bout dark, de sherrif he rode up to de house wid a writ fur master Robert fur habin' made 'salt an' batt'ry on one collud man, called Caleb Preston, an' he pulled out a suspeny dat make massa Robert witness agin heseff! ha! ha! You see Cale wus smart; he know'd master Robert b'longed to de Baptist meeting, an' wouldn't lie fur all de niggers in Jones county; so he had him dar, ha! ha!' Here Joe for some minutes was unable to continue the narrative. His merriment was contagious. I laughed till my sides were sore, and Preston enjoyed the story quite as much as I did. 'Well, what was the end of it?' I asked. 'Only, master Robert hed to be toted off to Newbern dat night, git bail or sleep in de jail, and de next mornin', af'er de nig hed a hed ten yars' use ob heseff fur nuffin, master Robert hed to do what _he'd_ a said, an' his fader afore him hed said, dey neber would do--dat is, take two fifty fur de oder half ob Cale! Ha! ha! De next time I gwoes to Newbern I hunt Cale up, an' I tell him he must study fur de law, shore; an' dat ef he done it, I know'd master Robert would pay de 'spences, out ob lub to de country.' The negroes who were attending the still had dropped their work to listen to Joe's story, and at its close guffawed in a chorus that made the woods ring. Hearing it, Joe sprang to his feet, shouting out: 'Yere--'bout you' wuck dar; leff me kotch you eavesdroppin' on gemmen agin, an' I'll gib you what I gabe Cale. 'Bout you' wuck, I say.' They turned nimbly to their tasks, and Joe resumed his seat. 'I see the moral of that story, Preston,' I said, when the negro had concluded. 'What is it?' 'That a darky may be as smart as a white man. Cale outwitted you.' 'Well, he did,' he replied, laughing; 'but that isn't the moral: it is that flogging never accomplishes its object.' 'I'm not so sure of that. Joe had brought Cale to terms, 'made a decent nigger on him,' when you, unluckily, interfered.' 'It ain't so much de floggin' on 'em, Mr. Kirke,' said Joe, 'as dar knowin' dat you _will_ do it ef dey desarve it. Dar ain't a darky on de plantation dat don't know master Robert an' de good missus 'ould rader be flogged demselves dan flog dem; an' dat wucks bad, Mr. Kirke, sorry bad;' and the negro shook his head with a grave, thoughtful air.