CHAPTER III.

THINGS ARE NOT SO BRIGHT AS THEY SEEM.





THE following morning broke forth bright and serene. Marston and his
guests, after passing a pleasant night, were early at breakfast.
When over, they joined him for a stroll over the plantation, to hear
him descant upon the prospects of the coming crop. Nothing could be
more certain, to his mind, than a bountiful harvest. The rice,
cotton, and corn grounds had been well prepared, the weather was
most favourable, he had plenty of help, a good overseer, and
faithful drivers. "We have plenty,-we live easy, you see, and our
people are contented," he says, directing his conversation to the
young Englishman, who was suspected of being Franconia's friend. "We
do things different from what you do in your country. Your
countrymen will not learn to grow cotton: they manufacture it, and
hence we are connected in firm bonds. Cotton connects many things,
even men's minds and souls. You would like to be a planter, I know
you would: who would not, seeing how we live? Here is the Elder, as
happy a fellow as you'll find in forty. He can be as jolly as an
Englishman over a good dinner: he can think with anybody, preach
with anybody!" Touching the Elder on the shoulder, he smiles, and
with an insinuating leer, smooths his beard. "I am at your service,"
replies the Elder, folding his arms.

"I pay him to preach for my nigger property,-I pay him to teach them