the flogging. Would it not be a mercy to Little Lizay for him to do this
rather than that other hand, energized by hate, revenge and cruelty?

He raised his arm, with his heart beating hot and his manhood shrinking: he
struck Little Lizay's bare shoulders. She had nerved herself, but the blow,
after all, surprised her and made her start; and she had not quite
recovered herself when the second blow fell, so that she winced again; but
after that she stood like a statue.

"Harder!" cried Mr. Buck after the first few lashes. "None yer tomfool'ry
'bout me. She ain't no baby. Harder! I tell yer. Yer ain't draw'd no blood
nary time. Ef yer don't min' me I'll knock yer down. Yer whips like yer wus
'feard yer'd hurt 'er. Yer ac' like yer never whipped no nigger sence yer
wus bawn. Yer's got ter tiptoe ter it, an' fling yer arm back at a better
lick 'an that. Look yere: ef yer don't lick her harder I'll make Big Sam
lick yer till yer see sights."

At length the wretched work was ended, and the negroes made their way along
the moonlighted lanes to their cabins. These were single rooms, built of
unhewn logs, chinked and daubed with yellow mud. They had puncheon floors
and chimneys built of sticks and clay. Of clay also were the all-important
jambs, which served as depositories of perhaps every household article
pertaining to the cabin except the bedding and the stools. There might have
been found the household knife and spoon, the two or three family tin cups,
the skillet, the pothooks, sundry gourd vessels, the wooden tray in which
the "cawn" bread was mixed--pipe, tobacco and banjo.

On the Horton place the negroes cooked their own suppers after the day's
work was over. So for an hour every evening "the quarter" had an animated
aspect, for the cabins, standing five yards apart, faced each other in two