"I know it won't, Peter," replied the almost heart-broken middy, with a sad smile, "you're very kind. I know you take an interest in me, and I'll try to do better, but I'm not used to spade-work, you know, and--" "Spade-work!" shouted Peter, laying his huge black hand on Foster's shoulder, and giving him a squeeze that made him wince, "das not what I mean. Work! w'y you's done more'n a day's work in one hour, judging by de work ob or'nary slabes. No, das not it. What's wrong is dat you don't rightly understand your priv'leges. Das de word, your priv'leges. Now, look yar. I don't want you to break your heart before de time, an' fur dat purpus I would remind you dat while dar's life dar's hope. Moreober, you's got no notion what luck you're in. If a bad massa got hold ob you, he gib you no noo clo'es, he gib you hard, black bread 'stead o' de good grub what you gits yar. He make you work widout stoppin' all day, and whack you on de sole ob your foots if you dar say one word. Was you eber whacked on de sole ob your foots?" "No, never," replied Foster, amused in spite of himself by the negro's earnest looks and manner. "Ho! den you don't know yet what Paradise am." "Paradise, Peter? You mean the other place, I suppose." "No, sar, I mean not'ing ob de sort. I mean de Paradise what comes arter it's ober, an' you 'gins to git well again. Hah! but you'll find it out some day. But, to continoo, you's got eberyt'ing what's comfrable here. If you on'y sawd de Bagnio slabes at work--I'll take you to see 'em some day--den you'll be content an' pleased wid your lot till de time comes when you escape." "Escape! How can I escape, Peter, now that I have given my word of honour not to try?" "Not'ing easier," replied the negro calmly, "you's on'y got to break your word-ob-honour!" "I'm sorry to hear you say that, my friend," returned Foster, "for it shakes my confidence in you. You must know that an English gentleman _never_ breaks his word--that is, he never _should_ break it--and you may rest assured that I will not break mine. If your view of such matters is so loose, Peter, what security have I that you won't deceive _me_ and betray _me_ when it is your interest or your whim to do so?" "Security, Massa? I lub you! I's fond o' your smood babby face. Isn't dat security enough?" Foster could not help admitting that it was, as long as it lasted! "But what," he asked, "what security has Ben-Ahmed that you won't be as false to him as you recommend me to be?" "I lub massa too!" answered the negro, with a bland smile. "What! love a man whom you have described to me as the most obstinate fellow you ever knew?" "Ob course I do," returned Peter. "W'y not? A obs'nit man may be as good as anoder man what can be shoved about any way you please. Ha! you not know yit what it is to hab a _bad_ massa. Wait a bit; you find it out, p'r'aps, soon enough. Look yar."