the steelyard she knew that it was put somewhere near the sixty notch. Up
flew the end of the yard, and up flew Lizay's heart with it: out went the
pea some ten teeth, yet up again went the impatient steel. Click! click!
click! rattled the weight. Out and out another ten notches, then another
and another--one hundred, one hundred and one, one hundred and two, one
hundred and three--yet the yard still protested, still called for more.
Out one tooth farther, and the steel lay along the horizon. Everybody
listened.

"One hunderd an' fou'," Mr. Buck announced. "Thar' now, yer lazy dog! I
know'd yer wasn't half wuckin'. Now see ter it yer come ter taw arter this:
hunderd an' fou's yer notch."

It was a moment of supreme relief to Alston. He drew a long breath, and
returned some smiles of congratulation from the negroes. Then he sighed: he
felt hopeless of repeating the weight day after day. He had hardly stopped
to breathe from day-dawn till moon-rise: he would not always have the
friendly moonlight to help him. But now Little Lizay's basket was swinging.
He listened to hear its weight with interest, but how unlike this was to
the absorbed anxiety which she had felt for him!

"Two hunderd an' 'leven--thutty-six poun's behin'!" said Mr. Buck, smacking
his lips as over some good thing. Now he should have vent for his spite
against the girl. "Thutty-six lashes on yer bar' back by yer sweet'art."
Mr. Buck said this with a dreadful snicker in Little Lizay's face.

The word ran like wildfire from mouth to mouth that Little Lizay, the
famous picker, had fallen behind, and was to be flogged--by the overseer,
some said--by Big Sam, others declared. But Edny Ann reckoned the cowhiding
was to be done by Alston.