"Tell you what 'tis, Miss Null," said Isham, removing his shapeless felt hat, "dis yere place is gittin' wus an' wus on de careen, an' wat's gwine to happen if ole miss don' come back is more'n I kin tell. Dar's no groun' ploughed yit for wheat, an' dem two han's been 'gaged to come do it, an' dey put it off, an' put it off till ole miss got as mad as hot coals, an' now at las' dey've come, an' she's not h'yar, an' nuffin' can be done. De wheat'll be free inches high on ebery oder farm 'fore ole miss git dem plough han's agin." "That is too bad, Uncle Isham," said Mrs Null. "When land that ought to be ploughed isn't ploughed, it all grows up in old field pines, don't it?" "It don' do dat straight off, Miss Null," said the old negro, his gray face relaxing into a smile. "No, I suppose not," said she. "I have heard that it takes thirty years for a whole forest of old field pines to grow up. But they will do it if the land isn't ploughed. Now, Uncle Isham, I don't intend to let everything be at a standstill here just because your mistress is away. That is one reason why I feed the turkeys. If they died, or the farm all went wrong, I should feel that it was partly my fault." "Yaas'm," said Uncle Isham, passing his hat from one hand to the other, as he delivered himself a little hesitatingly--"yaas'm, if you wasn't h'yar p'raps ole miss mought come back." "Now, Uncle Isham," said Mrs Null, "you mustn't think your mistress is staying away on account of me. She left home, as Letty has told me over and over, because your Master Junius came. Of course she thinks he's here yet, and she don't know anything about me. But if her affairs should go to rack and ruin while I am here and able to prevent it, I should think it was my fault. That's what I mean, Uncle Isham. And now this is what I want you to do. I want you to go right after those men, and tell them to come here as soon as they can, and begin to plough. Do you know where the ploughing is to be done?" "Oh, yaas'm," said Uncle Isham, "dar ain't on'y one place fur dat. It's de clober fiel', ober dar, on de udder side ob de gyarden." "And what is to be planted in it?" asked Mrs Null. "Ob course dey's gwine to plough for wheat," answered Uncle Isham, a little surprised at the question.