THE FIRESIDE AT FAR AWAY. 109 



over sixty miles from any town and more than a dozen 

 from any house, it had been appropriately named Far 

 Away. The door stood open, the negroes sat on the sill, 

 drinking in the conversation and laughing at every joke, 

 while within, Lou Jackson, her father, and all his guests, 

 sat or reclined around the room as best they could find 

 places. 



" Golly, Maussa, dat air buck's a grave-digger ! Da's 

 de same deer for sartin dat Blossom fired at two year 

 ago Christmas comin', when his gun bus'. Das de same 

 deer dat ripped up Snorter and Grip, de best dogs in dis 

 county, and now wha's dat air he's gone dun dis- day ? 

 He run Miss Lou's horse whare we like not see 'em till 

 day o' judgment." 



"Lem, you fool," called out Jackson, "hold your 

 tongue ; you will get ah 1 the boys on the place to be as 

 great cowards as you are." 



"I'se no coward, you knows dat's well's anybody, 

 Maussa Jackson. Ef de Lord want a brave man, de 

 Lord gonter call Lem; but I'se seen a buck run o' nights 

 in de range, and he feet struck fire, and when I sees dat 

 I comes in, and so'd you, Maussa Jackson." 



" What for gwine contrariwise to de Lord ?" said an 

 old negress, whose white head was obtruding in at the 

 doorway. 



" De Lord send de debil and de debil come. Dare's 

 Maussa Wilson's Ebo Jane, a rael little drum-cuss of a 

 nigger woman ; no genouwine religion 'bout her, and jist 

 afore she die dere, by de door dat look toward de piney 



