The crows were cawing and stealing from their bursting shells the rich pecan nuts, and the black-birds flew in great flocks over the fields.  In the hickory-woods the gray squirrel leaped from tree to tree, hunting for, and storing away for winter’s use, his store of nuts and acorns, or running along the rail-fence to find a hiding-place when frightened from his thieving in the cornfields.  The quail whistled for his truant mate in the yellow stubble, and the carrion-bird—­black and disgusting—­wheeled in circles, lazily, high up in the blue above.  There was in everything the appearance of satisfaction; abundance was everywhere, and the yellowing of the leaves and the smoky horizon told that the year was waning into winter.

Under the influences of the scene and the season the visitor of the judge was sober and reflective as he strolled through the woods, gun in hand, little intent upon shooting.  The quail whirred away from his feet; the funny little squirrel leaped up the tree-side and peeped around at him passing; but he heeded not these, and went forward to find the cabin of old Toney.  He found the old negro in his usual seat at the foot of his favorite tree, upon his well-smoothed and sleek wooden stool.

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Toney.  “You come dis time widout Miss Alice.  Why she not come wid you?  You not want somebody to turn de squirrel for you?  May be you bring de ole man more dan one dar?”

“It was too great a walk for her, Uncle Toney, and then she does not like my company well enough to pay so much fatigue for it.”

Toney laughed again.  “Too much walk, indeed, she walk here most ebery day, wid her little bonnet in her hand and basket too, wid sometin good for Toney.  When sun yonder and de shade cobber de groun; den she set dare, (pointing to the grass which grew luxuriantly near by) and talk to de ole man and lissen so still like a bird hiding, when I tell her all bout de ole folks, dat is buried dare, and how we all comed away from de States when de ole war driv us off, not General Jackson’s war.  No, sir, General Washington’s war, de ole war of all—­and den, young massa, you ought to see her.  She’s mity putty den, she is—­face red and smove, and she little tired and she look so like ole missus yonder, when she was a gall, and dem English red coats comes out from Charleston, to de ole place to see her.  Dat’s a long time ago, young massa.”

“Uncle Toney, how old are you?”

“Moss a hundred, young massa; I don’t know zackly—­but I great big boy when I comed from de ole country, tudder side ob de sea—­my country, massa.  When I comed to Charleston, I was so high—­(holding his hand some four feet from the earth) yet I was big nuff to plow, when ole massa, de fadder of him burried yonder, bied me and tuck me up to de high hills ob Santee.  Den, sir, my massa who brought me here, was gone to de country whar de white folks first comed from, England.  I neber see him till de ole war, when his fadder been