“First rate, General. We’re glad to see you! but we didn’t make a half crop, sir, the niggers were always in town loafing around that Freedman’s Bureau, holding meetings all night and going to sleep in the fields.” “Well, show me the books,” said the General as they entered the house. The General examined the accounts with care and then looked at young Allan McLeod for a moment as though he had made a discovery. “Young man, you’ve done this work well.” “I tried to, sir. If the niggers dispute anything, I fixed that by making the store-keepers charge each item in two books, one on your account, and one on an account kept separate for every nigger.” “Good enough. They’ll get up early to get ahead of you.” “I’m afraid they are going to make trouble at the Bureau, sir. That Agent’s been here holding Union League meetings two or three nights every week, and he’s got every nigger under his thumb.” “The dirty whelp!” growled the General. “If you can see me out of the trouble, General, I’d like to jump on him and beat the life out of him next time he comes out here!” The General frowned. “Don’t you touch him,--any more than you would a pole cat. I’ve trouble enough just now.” “I could knock the mud out of him in two minutes, if you say the word,” said Allan eagerly. “Yes, I’ve no doubt of it.” The General looked at him thoughtfully. He was a well knit powerful youth just turned his fifteenth birthday. He had red hair, a freckled face, and florid complexion. His features were regular and pleasing, and his stalwart muscular figure gave him a handsome look that impressed one with indomitable physical energy. His lips were full and sensuous, his eyebrows straight, and his high forehead spoke of brain power as well as horse power. He had a habit of licking his lips and running his tongue around inside of his cheeks when he saw anything or heard anything that pleased him that was far from intellectual in its suggestiveness. When he did this one could not help feeling that he was looking at a young well fed tiger. There was no doubt about his being alive and that he enjoyed it. His boisterous voice and ready laughter emphasised this impression. “Allan, my boy,” said the General when he had examined his accounts, “if you do everything in life as well as you did these books, you’ll make a success.” “I’m going to do my best to succeed, General. I’ll not be a poor white man. I’ll promise you that.” “Do you go to church anywhere?” “No sir, Maw’s not a member of any church, and it’s so far to town I don’t go.” “Well, you must go. You must go to the Sunday School too, and get acquainted with all the young folks. I’ll speak to Mrs. Durham and get her to look after you.” “All right, sir, I’ll start next Sunday.” Allan was feeling just then in a good humour with himself and all the world. The compliment of his employer had so elated him, he felt fully prepared to enter the ministry if the General had only suggested it.