"H'ist de kunnues right out, boss," said one of the boys, a little fellow, exceedingly black, with strongly marked features; "and put 'em on de wagon."
No sooner said than done. Moseley's boat had about one hundred pounds of water in her when we turned her over on the bank. The little black fellow (the other was a head taller and yellow) had a perfect genius for management. He directed the fastening and arrangement of the canoes; he was almost too small to assist. He spoke such a hasty and softened dialect that we could hardly understand him, but he was one of the brainiest and readiest boys I have ever met, white or black.
The conversation of the boys, as we jogged along, was very interesting. The yellow fellow was an indefinite character; he knew nothing certainly; the black fellow answered "yes" or "no," like the working of a trap.
"What bird is that singing now?"
"I t'ink dat a swamp canary, boss," says the yellow youngster, with a doubtful glance at his companion, who remains silent, till we ask him, "Is it a canary?"
"No, dat's a wren," and you feel sure that a wren it is.
"Whose farm is this on the left?" we ask, look-
