ejecting his words between mouthfuls of tobacco juice as if they were
pebbles which obstructed his speech. "I al'ays stick to plantin' yo'
corn when the hickory leaf's as big as a squirrel's ear. If you don't,
the luck's agin you."

"An' whar thar's growin' corn thar's a sight o' hoein'," put in an
alert, nervous-looking countryman. "If I lay my hoe down for a spell,
the weeds git so big I can't find the crop."

Amos Burr nodded with slow emphasis: "I never see land take so natural
to weeds nohow as mine do," he said. "When you raise peanuts you're
raisin' trouble."

He was a lean, overworked man, with knotted hands the colour of the
soil he tilled and an inanely honest face, over which the freckles
showed like splashes of mud freshly dried. As he spoke he gave his blue
jean trousers an abrupt hitch at the belt.

"Dear me! Dear me!" returned the judge with absent-minded, habitual
friendliness, smiling his rich, beneficent smile. Then, as he caught
sight of a smaller red head beneath Burr's arm, he added: "You've a
right-hand man coming on, I see. What's your name, my boy?"

The boy squirmed on his bare, brown feet and wriggled his head from
beneath his father's arm. He did not answer, but he turned his bright
eyes on the judge and flushed through all the freckles of his ugly
little face.

"Nick--that is, Nicholas, sir," replied the elder Burr with an
apologetic cough, due to the insignificance of the subject. "Yes, sir,