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Read, Opie Percival, 1852-1939

"An Arkansas Planter"


Why, sir, if I were to listen to him I'd never get another wink of
sleep."
"I kept myself up," said the giant; and then he added: "I wanted to see
you this morning, not very bad, but just to ask you to get me a box of
forty-fours when you go to Brantly to-day."
"I'm glad to find you so thoughtful," said the Major. "And I want to
tell you right now that you've got to look out for yourself. But staying
up all night is no way to begin. Go on into Tom's room and take a nap."
The Major whistled as he rode along, not for want of serious reflection,
for he could easily have reached out and drawn in trouble, but because
the sharp air stirred his spirits. Nowhere was there a cloud--a
speckless day in the middle of a week that had threatened to keep the
sky besmirched. Roving bands of negro boys were hunting rabbits in the
fields, with dogs that leaped high in low places where dead weeds stood
brittle. The pop-eyed hare was startled from his bed among brambly
vines, and fierce shouts arose like the remembered yell of a Confederate
troop. The holidays were near, the crops were gathered, the winter's
wood was up, the hunting season open, but no negro fired a gun. At this
time of the year steamboatmen and tavern-keepers in the villages were
wont to look to Titus, Eli, Pompey, Sam, Caesar and Bill for their game,
and it was not an unusual sight to see them come loaded down with
rabbits and quails caught in traps, but now they sat sullen over the
fire by day, but were often met prowling about at night.


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