While birds with brightened plumage sing as though their lives would escape through their throats; while lambs, calves, and colts gambol in the pasture, filled with the happiness of young life; while fish rush upstream like flashes of silver light and the very trees clap their hands in praise, it is not conceivable that man, God's masterpiece, should be insensible to this season of the year. A sudden thrill like an electric current passes through his being; a subtle exhilaration, as when a man is filled with wine, possesses him, and he is in touch with the new life, whether he goes afield with team or plow or hunts the forest for the increasing game. It was a day in early April. All the planters were busy in their fields, either laboring with their own hands or superintending the toil of their slaves. The negroes--those jocund children of nature--with happy faces and plantation melodies on their lips, were preparing the ground for its grain and tobacco seed. Judge LeMonde himself was in a rich field between his house and the river giving directions to his chief overseer. In the front garden, between the house and pine trees, could be seen Madam and Viola LeMonde and Mose and Nora all busy putting flower beds in order. Mose was digging the ground, Nora was using a light rake, and the white women were putting in some flower seeds. While such peaceful work was being done in the river bottom, another scene was taking place at Simon Wiles' hillside farm. Though the season and weather called to earnest effort, we see Sam Wiles and Zibe Turner, the monster dwarf, seated on a big log behind the barn. Let us listen to what they are saying: _Wiles_: "De ol' Jedge guv us a term in de jug (jail), an' I'm sure goin' to git even wuth him an' dat preacher too." _Turner_: "I'll be wuth you in ary scrape you want to git up, but we uns must be keerful not to be ketched ag'in." _Wiles_: "Cordin' to my thinkin', each month we'uns war in de jug is wurth de price of a hoss." _Turner_: "That's yer game, is it? Well, 'tain't de fust time we'uns hev borrowed a hoss an' fergot to return 'im, but we'uns never struck so high up as de Jedge's stock. What hosses air you thinkin' on?" _Wiles_: "What ones do you suppose? De best ones, o' course. We'uns must take Velox for de money he will bring in Paducky, an' I want to bring down de pride o' dat young upstart, George LeMonde. We'uns both owed 'im a grudge sence he beat you in de race an' won what leetle money we'uns had. De nex' best hoss in de barn is Dolly, an' we'll take her 'long to keep de bay compney." _Turner_: "Dat suits me all right; but I want to ride Velox, 'cause he went past me in de race. Won't I make 'im trabble, do, down de ribber road! Dat's my holt."