196 A FLORIDA SHRINE. 
posite the car-wheel foundry, and near the 
station, as | now remember, a middle-aged 
negress was cutting up an oak log. She 
swung the axe with vigor and precision, and 
the chips flew; but I could not help saying, 
‘You ought to make the man do that.” 
She answered on the instant. ‘ I would,” 
she said, “if I had a man to make.” 
“I’m sure you would,” I thought. Her 
tongue was as sharp as her axe. 
Ought I to have ventured a word in her 
behalf, I wonder, when a man of her own 
color, and a pretty near neighbor, told me 
with admirable naiveté the story of his be- 
reavement and his hopes? His wife had 
died a year before, he said, and so far, 
though he had not let the grass grow under 
his feet, he had found no one to take her 
place. He still meant to do so, if he could. 
He was only seventy-four years old, and it 
was not good for aman to be alone. He 
seemed a gentle spirit, and I withheld all 
mention of the stalwart and manless wood- 
cutter. I hope he went farther, and fared 
better. So youthful as he was, surely there 
was no occasion for haste. 
When I had skirted a cotton-field — the 
