the ones he gives you! Don't you drop a one! Do you understand?"
"No, sah! Wha' he?"
"There he is, idiot, coming down the road."
The mail carrier could be heard long before he could be seen, as his dilapidated car made more noise than a motorcycle. He was in sight now, coming along the red clay road that cut the peaceful green of the rolling meadow lands, sharply defining the contour of the hills.
Willie Bell hitched up his trousers, that were sketchily hung on his meager frame by means of a piece of twine, and timidly took the packet of letters to be mailed. Then he turned and ran like a rabbit towards the yard gate.
The Major laughed. "A pretty good little nigger, that! Comes of good stock—Johnson stock. He may some day have charge of the mill. The Johnsons seem to be keener on the perpetuation of the species than we Taylors."
Evelyn and Myra raised their eyebrows again. They wished their father wouldn't mention such things. They also devoutly hoped he would not start in on the fact that they were not doing their part towards keeping the race of Taylors going. It was up to Spottswood, anyhow, but as far as they knew Spot had no idea of having another lean-to added to Mill House. Spot was
