produce enough fertilizer on the farm to go very far on a thousand
acres.

"Yes, Sir, we have just about a thousand acres here and we still own
it,--and with no mortgage on it, I'm mighty glad to say. But, laws,
the land is poor, and you can get all the land you want about here
for ten dollars an acre. There comes Charles, now. He can tell you
all about this country for more than twenty miles, I reckon.

"Wilkes!" A negro servant answered the call, and took the horse as
Charles West stopped at the side gate.

"Wilkes was born here in slave times, nigh sixty years ago," she
continued. "He is three years older than my son Charles. He has
remained with us ever since the war, except for a few months when he
went away one time just to see for sure that he was free and _could
_go. But he came back mighty homesick and he'll want to stay here
till he dies, I reckon.

"Charles, this is Mr. Johnston, Percy Johnston, as he says; but he
thinks he is no kin of General Joe or Albert Sidney. He's been
looking at the land hereabout, but I don't think he'll want any of
it after seeing the kind of crops we raise."

With this introduction, the mother disappeared within the house, and
Charles took her seat on the vine-covered veranda.

"I feel that I owe an apology to you, Sir," said Percy, "for
presenting myself here with bag and baggage, and asking to share the
hospitality of your home, with no previous arrangements having been