forty or forty-five, I don't know which."

"Dat may be," replied Pompey; "but now you is only thirty years old,--
dat's what marser says you is to be."

"I know I is more den dat," responded the man.

"I can't help nuffin' about dat," returned Pompey; "but when you get
into de market and any one ax you how old you is, and you tell um you
is forty or forty-five, marser will tie you up and cut you all to pieces.
But if you tell um dat you is only thirty, den he won't. Now remember
dat you is thirty years old and no more."

"Well den, I guess I will only be thirty when dey ax me."

"What's your name?" said Pompey, addressing himself to another.

"Jeems."

"Oh! Uncle Jim, is it?" "Yes."

"Den you must have all them gray whiskers shaved off,
and all dem gray hairs plucked out of your head."
This was all said by Pompey in a manner which showed that he knew
what he was about.

"How old is you?" asked Pompey of a tall, strong-looking man.
"What's your name?"

"I am twenty-nine years old, and my name is Tobias, but they