My friend Zed was full three-quarters of an hour before he had brought out the horses and got everything else ready. First, he had forgotten what they call here the hitching-reins, for tying the horses up to any fence or gate where it may be needful; then he had left in the stable my gun, which I had given him to carry; then he had got one of the girths twisted; and, in short, there were innumerable little things to set right which should never have gone wrong. The day was intensely hot, however--more so than any one out of Virginia can possibly conceive; and, though resolved to cut this sort of thing short at once, I could only speak a few words of remonstrance. "Beg pardon, massa," said Zed. "Things not got accustomed to me yet; they'll all come right by-and-by." Trusting that it would be so, I rode on. The next five-and-twenty miles seemed the longest journey I had ever made. I will not attempt to describe it, for that is impossible. The air was suffocating. Not a breath of wind moved the trees or came along the road. The long unwatered dust rose up at every footfall of the horses; the poor beasts were in a lather, though going at a very easy trot, and I myself was in that condition which, though it may be healthy enough, is very ungentlemanly in its aspect. What would I not have given for the coldest breeze that ever blew across the Scottish moors!--What would I have given for a good heavy gray cloud!--What for a drenching shower! But none of these things were to be had; and I went on with a sort of desperation, knowing that unless I slept in one of the marshes, where the evening frogs were already beginning to croak, I had no place of refuge for several miles ahead. All this while, Zed looked as cool as a cucumber. It was really quite provoking to see the glossy black shining of his skin, and his crisp, white wool, while I was dropping from every pore, "and larding the lean earth as I rode along." But the good man seemed really to have compassion upon me; and, about half-past five o'clock, he pointed with his hand to the left, saying, "You look tire, massa Richard. Dere's a house. Better go in and stop dere." "But whose house is it, Zed?" I asked. "Don't know, massa," answered Zed. Then, in pity of my ignorance, he added, "Nebber mind dat. They very glad to see you, whoever it be. All gentlemen do de same."