164 ON THE ST. AUGUSTINE ROAD. 



for his part, he did n't trouble them a great 

 deal. The vines (and he pointed at them, 

 fringing the roadside indefinitely) were 

 great places for rattlesnakes. He liked the 

 berries, but he liked somebody else to pick 

 them. He was awf ully afraid of snakes ; 

 they were so dangerous. " Yes, sir " (this 

 in answer to an inquiry), " there are plenty 

 of rattlesnakes here clean up to Christmas." 

 I liked him for his frank avowal of coward- 

 ice, and still more for his quiet bearing. 

 He remembered the days of slavery, " be- 

 fore the surrender," as the current Southern 

 phrase is, and his face beamed when I 

 spoke of my joy in thinking that his peo- 

 ple were free, no matter what might befall 

 them. He, too, raised cotton on hired land, 

 and was bringing up his children there 

 were eight of them, he said to habits of 

 industry. 



My second stroll toward St. Augustine 

 carried me perhaps three miles, say one 

 sixty-sixth of the entire distance, and 

 none of my subsequent excursions took me 

 any farther; and having just now com- 

 mended a negro for his candor, I am moved 

 to acknowledge that, between the sand un- 



