“You’re right.  There, Chub, there’s a knife for you.  You’re a good little fellow, as well as you knows how to be.”

Chub grinned, took the knife, opened both blades, and nodding his head, made off without a word.

“The etarnal little heathen!  Never to say so much as thank ye.”

“Nebber mind, Misser Bunce; dat’s de ‘spectable t’ing wha’ you do.  Always ’member, ef you wants to be gempleman’s, dat you kaint take no money from nigger and poor buckrah.  You kin gib um wha’ you please, but you mustn’t ’speck dem to be gibbing you.”

“But in the way of trade, Caesar,” said the pedler, putting his horse in motion.

“Der’s a time for trade, and a time for gib, and you must do de genteel t’ing, and nebber consider wha’s de ’spense of it, or de profit.  De nigger hab he task in de cornfiel’, and he hab for do um; but ’spose maussa wants he nigger to do somet’ing dat aint in he task—­dat’s to say in de nigger own time—­wha’ den?  He pays um han’some for it.  When you’s a trading, trade and git you pay, but when you’s a trabelling with gemplemans and he family, da’s no time for trade.  Ef you open you box at dem times, you must jest put in you hand, and take out de t’ing wha’ you hab for gib, and say, ‘Yer Caesar—­somet’ing for you, boy!’”

“Hem! that’s the how, is it?” said the pedler with a leer that was good-humoredly knowing.  “Well, old fellow, as you’ve given me quite a lesson how to behave myself, I guess I must show you that I understand how to prove that I’m thankful—­so here, Caesar, is a cut for you from one of my best goods.”

He accompanied the words with a smart stroke of his whip, a totally unexpected salutation, over the shoulders, which set the negro off in a canter.  Bunce, however, called him back; holding up a flaming handkerchief of red and orange, as a means of reconciliation.  Caesar was soon pacified, and the two rode on together in a pleasant companionship, which suffered no interruptions on the road; Caesar all the way continuing to give the pedler a proper idea of the processes through which he might become a respectable person in Carolina.

There are still other parties to our story which it is required that we should dispose of according to the rules of the novel.

Let us return to the dungeon of the outlaw, where we behold him in a situation as proper to his deserts as it is new to his experience.  Hitherto, he has gone free of all human bonds and penalties, save that of exile from society, and a life of continued insecurity.  He has never prepared his mind with resignation to endure patiently such a condition.  What an intellect was here allowed to go to waste—­what fine talents have been perverted in this man.  Endowments that might have done the country honor, have been made to minister only in its mischiefs.