Lewis Rand closed the door of the room, and went out upon the shady
porch, where he found the hunter and a lounging wide-eyed knot of
listeners to tales of Kentucky and the Mississippi. The dinner-bell
rang. Adam fell pointedly silent, and his audience melted away. The
hunter rose and stretched himself. "There is prime venison for dinner,
and a quince tart and good apple brandy. Ha! I was always glad I was
born in Virginia. Here is Gideon swinging down the hill--Gideon and his
negro!"

The tobacco-roller joined them, and with a wave of the hand indicated
his purchase of the morning. This was a tall and strong negro, young,
supple, and of a cheerful countenance. Rand was in high good-humour.
"He's a runaway, Mocket says, but I'll cure him of that! He's strong as
an ox and as limber as a snake." Taking the negro's hand in his, he bent
the fingers back. "Look at that! easy as a willow! He'll strip tobacco!
His name is Joab."

The namesake of a prince in Israel looked blithely upon his new family.
"Yaas, marster," he said, with candour. "Dat is my name dat sho' is!
Jes' Joab. An' I is strong as en ox,--don' know 'bout de snaik. Marster,
is you gwine tek me 'way from Richmond?"

"Albemarle," said the tobacco-roller briefly. "To-morrow morning."

Joab studied the vine above the porch. "Kin I go tell my ole mammy
good-bye? She's washin' yonder in de creek."

Rand nodded, and the negro swung off to where, upon the grassy common
sloping to Shockoe Creek, dark washer-women were spreading clothes. The