Perceiving that he had Little Lizay's sympathy, Alston went on talking,
telling her that he could stand a lashing coming from his own master, but
that an overseer was only white trash, who never did "own a nigger," and
never would be able to. If he had to be flogged, he wanted it to be by a
gentleman.

"Never min'," said Little Lizay. "Maybe yer'll git mo' ter-morrer. When
yer's pickin' yer mus' quit stoppin' ter pick out the leaves an' trash. I
lets ev'rything go in that happens, green bolls an' all: they weighs
heavy."

The following day, Alston, as before, went to the cotton-field early, but
he found that Little Lizay had the start of him. She had already emptied
her sack into her pick-basket. "The cotton we get now'll weigh heavy," she
said: "it's got dew on it."

"That's so," Alston assented, "but yer mus'n't talk ter me, Lizay. I's got
ter put all my min' ter my wuck: I can't foad ter talk."

"I can't nuther," said Lizay. "Wish I didn't pick so much cotton the fus'
day: I's got ter keep on trottin' ter two hunderd an' fawty-seven."

She selected two rows beside Alston's. She wore a coarse dress of uncolored
homespun cotton, of the plainest and scantiest make, low in the neck, short
in the sleeves and skirt. Her feet and head were bare. A sack of like
material with her dress was tied about the waist, apron-like. This was to
receive immediately the pickings from the hand. When filled it was emptied
in a pick-basket, holding with a little packing fifty or sixty pounds. This
small basket was kept in the picker's vicinity, being moved forward
whenever the sack was taken back for emptying. Besides this go-between