Commodore Junk — page 70: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

IN THE PLANTATION. 63 and the cat, if they quarrelled again, the overseer went on to see to the others of his flock. “It’s worse than a dog’s life!” said Abel, bitterly. “A dog does get patted as well as kicked. Bart, lad, I’m sorry I got you that lash.” “Nay, lad, never mind,” said Bart. “Im sorry for you; but don’t speak hard things of Mary.” “Tl try not,” said Abel, as he hoed away excitedly ; “but I hope this coffee we grow may poison those who drink it.” “What for? They can’t help it,” said Bart, smiling. “There, lad, take it coolly. Some day we may make a run for it.” “And be shot!” said Abel, bitterly. “There, you're down to the end of that row. I'll go this way. He’s watch- ing us.” Bart obeyed. He was one who always did obey; and by degrees the young men were working right away from each other, till they were a good two hundred yards apart. Abel was at the end of his row first, and he stopped and turned to begin again and go down, so as to pass Barts about the middle of the clearing; but Bart had another minute’s chopping to do before turning. He was close up to a dense patch of forest—one wild tangle of cane and creeper, which literally tied the tall trees together and made the forest impassable—when the shrieking of a kind of jay, which had been flitting about excitedly, stopped, and was followed by the melodious whistle of a white bird and the twittering of quite a flock of little fellows of a gorgeous scarlet-crimson. Then the shrieking of several par- rots answering each other arose; while just above Bart’s head, where clusters of trumpet-shaped blossoms hung down from the sdge of the forest, scores of brilliantly-scaled humming- birds literally buzzed on almost transparent wing, and then Gomilcbooks