for but a moment, gripped his imagination. closer and closer.

"Ef I jest could set up dah on dat fence an' cuss 'im while he hoed, an' ef I jest could one time see 'im er-hus'lin' erroun' w'en I tole 'im, dis nigger 'd be ready ter die right den."

Any observer a trifle sharper than Ben would have read Judas's thoughts as he ruminated thus; but Ben was not a student of human nature,—or, for that matter, any other nature, and he scolded away merely to give vent to the pressure of habit.

One morning, when the melon vines were young, it must have been late in April,Judas leaned on his hoe-handle, and looking up at Ben, who sat on the fence top, as usual, smoking his short pipe, he remarked: "Don' ye yer dat mockin'-bird er tee-diddlin' an' er too-doodlin', Mars Ben?"

"I'll tee-diddle an' too-doodle ye ef ye don't keep on a-hoein'," raged Ben. "This year I 'm bound to have some big melons, ef I have to wear ye out to do it!"

Judas sprung to work and for about a minute hoed desperately; then looking up again, he said, "De feesh allus bites bestest w'en de mockin'-birds tee-diddles an' toodoodles dat away."

Such a flood of abusive eloquence as Ben now let go upon the balmy morning air would have surprised and overwhelmed a less adequately fortified soul than that of Judas. The negro, however, was well prepared for the onslaught, and received it with most industrious though indifferent silence. When the master had exhausted both his breath and his vocabu

lary, the negro turned up his rheumy eyes and suggested that "feesh ain't gwine ter bite eber' day like dey 'll bite ter-day." This remark was made in a tone of voice expressive of absentmindedness, and almost instantly the speaker added dreamily, leaning on his hoe again:

"Time do crawl off wid a feller's life pow'ful fast, Mars Ben. Seem lak yistyd'y, or day 'fore yistyd'y, 'at we 's leetle beety boys. Don' yo' 'member w'en ole Bolus-dat fust Bolus, I mean -done went an' kick de lof' outer de new stable? We 's er-gittin' pooty ole, Mars Ben, pooty ole."

Yes, an' we 'll die an' be buried an' resurrected, yer old vagabond ye, before yer get one hill of this here patch hoed!" roared Ben. Judas did not move, but, wagging his head in a dreamy way, said:

"I'members one time,"—here he chuckled softly," I'members one time w'en we had er fight an' I whirped yo'; made yo' yelp out an' say: "Nough, 'nough! Take 'im off!' an' Moses, how I wus er-linkin' it ter yo' wid bofe fists ter oncet! Does yo' rickermember dat, Mars Ben?"

Ben remembered. It was when they were little children, before Judas had found out his hereditary limitation, and before Ben had dreamed of asserting the superiority inherent in his blood. Somehow the retrospect filled the master's vision instantly with a sort of Indian-summer haze of tenderness. He forgot to scold. For some time there was silence, save that the mocking-bird poured forth a song as rich and plaintive as any ever heard by Sappho under the rose-bannered garden-walls of Mitylene; then Judas, with sudden energy, exclaimed:

"Mars Ben, yo' nebber did whirp me, did yo'?"

Ben, having lapsed into retrospective distance, did not heed the negro's interrogation, but sat there on the fence with his pipe-stem clamped between his teeth. He was smiling in a mild, childish way.

"No," added Judas, answering his own question-"no, yo' nebber whirped me in yo' life; but I whirped yo' oncet, like de berry debil, did n't I, Mars Ben?"

Ben's hat was far back on his head, and his thin, white hair shone like silver floss on his wrinkled forehead. The expression of his face was that of silly delight in a barren and commonplace reminiscence.

"Mars Ben, I wants ter ax one leetle fabor ob yo'."

No answer.

"Mars Ben!"

The master clung to his distance.
"Hey dar! Mars Ben!"

"Well, what yer want, yer old scarecrow?" inquired Ben, pulling himself together and yawning so that he dropped his pipe, which Judas quickly restored to him.

"Well, Mars Ben, 't ain't much w'at I wants, but I 's been er-wantin' it seem lak er thousan' years."

Ben began to look dreamy again.

"I wants ter swap places wid yo', Mars Ben, dat's w'at I wants," continued Judas, speaking rapidly, as if forcing out the words against a heavy pressure of restraint. "I wants ter set up dah on dat fence, an' yo' git down yer an' I cuss yo', an' yo' jest hoe like de debil-dat 's w'at I wants."

It was a slow process by which Judas at last forced upon his master's comprehension the preposterous proposition for a temporary exchange of situations. Ben could not understand it fully until it had been insinuated into his mind particle by particle, so to speak; for the direct method failed wholly, and the wily old African resorted to subtile suggestion and elusive supposititious illustration of his desire.

"We's been er-libin' tergedder lo! des many ye'rs, Mars Ben, an' did I eber 'fuse ter do

anyfing 'at yo' axed ob me? No, sah, I nebber did. Sort er seem lak yo' mought do jest dis one leetle 'commodation fo'

me."

Ben began to grin in a sheepish, half-fascinated way as the proposition gradually took hold of his imagination. How would it feel to be a "nigger " and have a master over him? What sort of sensation would it afford to be compelled to do implicitly the will of another, and that other a querulous and conscienceless old sinner like Judas? The end of it was that he slid down from his perch and took the hoe while Judas got up and sat on the fence.

"Han' me dat pipe," was the first peremptory order.

Ben winced, but gave up the coveted nicotian censer. "Now den, yo' flop-yeared, bandy-shanked, hooknosed, freckle-faced, wall-eyed, double

chinned, bald-headed, hump-shoul'ered-"

"Come now, Judas," Ben interrupted, "I won't stan' no sech langwidges

"Hol' on dah, Mars Ben," cried Judas, in an injured tone. "Yo' p'omised me yo''d do it, an' I knows yo' 's not gwine back on yo' wo'd: no Wilson eber do dat."

Ben was abashed. It was true no Wilson ever broke a promise. The Wilsons were men of honor.

"Well, fire away," he said, falling to work again. "Fire away!"

"Hussle up, dah! Hussle up, yo' lazy ole vagabon' yo', er I'll git down f'om heah an' I'll w'ar out ebery hic'ry sprout in de county

"

on yo' ole rusty back! Git erlong!-hurry up!-faster! Don' yo' heah? Ef I do come down dah I jest nat'rally comb yo' head tell ebery ha'r on it 'll sw'ar de day ob judgment done come! I'll wa'm yo' jacket tell de dus' er-comin' out 'm it 'll look lak a sto'm-cloud! Wiggle faster, dern yo' ole skin! Wiggle faster, er I'll yank out yo' backbone an' mek er tracechain out 'm it! Don' yo' heah me, Ben?"

Ben heard and obeyed. Never did hoe go faster, never was soil so stirred and pulverized. The sweat sprung from every pore of the man's skin, it trickled over his face and streamed from his chin, it saturated his clothes.

Judas was intoxicated with delight; almost delirious with the sensation of freedom and masterhood. His eloquence increased as the situation affected his imagination, and his words tumbled forth in torrents. Not less was Ben absorbed and carried away. He was a slave, Judas was his master, the puppet must wriggle when the owner pulled the strings. He worked furiously. Judas forgot to smoke the pipe, but held it in his hand and made all sorts of gestures with it.

"Hit dem clods! Mash 'em fine!" he screamed. "Don' look up, yo' ole poky tarrypin yo'! Ef yo' does I'll wommux de hide off 'm yo' blamed ole back faster 'n forty-seben shoemakers kin peg it on ag'in! Hussle, I tole yo', er I 'll jest wring yo' neck an' tie yo' years in er hard knot! Yo' heah me now, Ben?"

This was bad enough, but not the worst, for Judas used many words and phrases not permissible in print. He spared no joint of the master's armor, he left no vulnerable point unassailed. The accumulated riches of a lifetime spent in collecting a picturesque vocabulary, and the stored force of nearly sixty years given to private practice in using it, now served him a full turn. In the thickest shower of the negro's mingled threats, commands, and maledictions, however, Ben quit work, and, leaning on

his hoe, panted rapidly. He gazed up at Judas pathetically and said:

"JUDAS! YOU OLD COON!" "MARS BEN!"

Judas actually stopped short in the midcareer of his eloquence, and Ben added: "Never see sich signs for feesh a-bitin'; did you, Jude?"

The charm was broken, the farce was ended. A little later the two old men might have been seen, with their bait-cups and fishing-poles in their hands, toddling along down the slope to the rivulet, the white leading, the black following. They were both rather abstracted, it appeared, for each cast in his hook without any bacon-rind on it, and sat on the stream's bank all the rest of the forenoon in blissful expectancy of an impossible nibble.

One good came of the little episode at the melon-patch. The vine around whose roots Ben had plied the hoe with such vigor thrived amazingly, and in due time bore a watermelon of huge size, a grand spheroid as green as emerald and as richly soft in surface color as the most costly old velvet.

see it, Mars Ben."

Ben went, and, sure enough, there was a melon just the duplicate of his own. Of course, however, he claimed that he saw some indices of inferiority in Judas's fruit, but he could n't just point them out- maybe the rind was not as healthy-looking, he thought, and then the stem appeared to be shriveling. Judas, for his part, was quite sure that his master's melon would not "sweeten up" as his would, and that it would be found lacking in that "jawleeciousness" and that " fo'-de-Lor'-sake-hand me-some-moreness" so characteristic of those of his own raising.

Ben's pride in his melon matured and ripened at the same time with the maturing and ripening of that wonderful globule of racy pulp and juice whose core he longed to see. After so many failures, here at last was his triumph. There was a certain danger connected with plucking this melon. It was of a variety locally called "ice-rind" on account of

the thickness of the outer part or shell which made it very difficult to tell when it was ripe, and so Ben dreaded to act. Every evening in the latest dusk of twilight he would go out and lean over the patch fence to have a darkling view of his treasure, which thus seen was mightily magnified.

When the moment of sacrifice had come, Ben actually shrunk from the task of plucking that melon. He leaned on the fence until it was quite dark and until the moon had begun to show in the east before he bethought him that that night was Judas's birth-night, and then a bright idea came to him. He would take the melon to the old slave's cabin and they would have a feast. But when he had climbed over the fence and had stooped above the huge, dusky sphere, his heart failed him, and at the same time another thought struck him with great force. He straightened himself up, placed his hands on his hips, and chuckled. Just the thing! The best joke on Judas! He would go to the negro's patch, steal his big melon, and then share it with him on the following day. His own melon he would keep a few days longer to be sure that it had ripened. A very simple proceeding, without a thought of dishonor in it.

It was as beautiful and balmy a midsummer night as ever fell upon the world. Ben felt its soft influence in his old blood as he toddled surreptitiously along the path leading through a little wood to Judas's cabin and patch. He was picturing in his mind how foolish Judas would look and how beaten he would feel when he found out that he had been feasted on his own big melon. One might have seen by the increasing light of the moon that Ben's trelliswork of facial wrinkles could scarcely hold in the laughing glee that was in him, and his eyes twinkled while his mouth drew itself into a set, suppressed smile. Chawm trotted along silently at Ben's heels, his tail drooping and his ears hanging limp. In the distance, amid the hills, an owl was hooting dolefully, but the little wood was as silent as the grave. Suddenly Ben heard a footfall coming up the path, and he slipped into the bushes just in time to let Judas go shuffling by all unaware.

"The blamed old rooster," he said to himself in a tender, affectionate whisper. "The blamed old rooster! I wonder what he 's athinkin' about jest now?"

Chawm slipped out and fell noiselessly behind Judas, following him on towards the mansion. Ben chuckled with deep satisfaction as he climbed over into Judas's patch and laid hands on the negro's large melon. What a typical thief he appeared as he hurried furtively along, stooping low with his ill-gotten load, his crooked shadow dancing vaguely beside him! Over

the fence he toiled with difficulty, the melon was so heavy and slippery, then on up the path. Once in the shadowy wood, he laid down his burden and wiped his dewy face with his sleeve. He did not realize how excited he was; it was the first time in all his life that he ever had stolen anything, even in fun. Every little sound startled him and made him pant. He felt as if running as fast as his legs could carry him would be the richest of all luxuries.

When again he picked up the melon and resumed his way he found his heart fluttering and his limbs weak, but he hurried on. Suddenly he halted, with a black apparition barring the path before him.

"Judas! you old coon!" "Mars Ben!"

They leaned forward and glared at each

other.

"Mars Ben! Yo' been er-stealin' my watermillion!"

"Judas! You thievin' old rooster! You've stole-"

Their voices blended, and such a mixture! The wood resounded. They stood facing each other, as much alike as duplicates in everything save color, each clasping in his arms the other's

watermelon. It was a moment of intense surprise, of voluble swearing, of picturesque posturing; then followed a sudden collapse and down fell both great ripe, luscious spheres with a dull, heavy bump, breaking open on the ground and filling the air with a spray of sweet juice and the faint luxuriant aroma so dear to Georgian nostrils. Chawm stepped forward and sniffed idly and indifferently at one of the pieces. A little screech-owl mewed plaintively in a bush hard by. Both men, having exhausted themselves simultaneously, began to sway and tremble, their legs slowly giving way under them. The spot of moonlight in which they stood lent a strange effect to their bent and faltering forms. Judas had been more or less a thief all his life, but this was the first time he ever had been caught in the act, therefore he was as deeply shocked as was Ben. Down they sank until they sat flat on the ground in the path and facing each other, the broken melons between them. Chawm took position a little to one side and looked on gravely, as if he felt the solemnity of the occasion. Judas was first to speak.

"Well, I jest be 'sentially an' eberlastin❜ly – he began.

"Shet up!" stormed Ben.

They looked sheepishly at each other, while Chawm licked his jaws with perfunctory nonchalance. After what seemed a very long silence, Ben said:

"Jude, ax a blessin' afore we eats."
Judas hesitated.

"Lor', hab mercy on two ole villyans an' w'at dey done steal f'om one 'nudder. Spaycially, Lor', forgib Mars Ben, kase he rich an' free an' he orter hab mo' sense an' mo' honah 'bout 'im 'an ter steal f'om po' nigger. I use to fink, Lor', dat Mars Ben 's er mighty good man, but seem lak lately he gittin' so on'ry 'at yo' 'll be erbleeged ter hannel 'im pooty sabage ef he keep on. Dey may be 'nough good lef' in 'im ter pay fer de trouble ob foolin' 'long wid 'im, but hit 's pow'ful doubtful, an' dat 's er fac'. Lor', I don't advise yo' ter go much outer yo' way ter 'commodate sich er outdacious old sneak-t'ief an' sich er-"

"Judas!" roared Ben, "yer jest stop right now!"

"An' bress dese watermillions w'at we 's erbout ter receib, amen!" concluded Judas. "Try er piece er dis here solid core, Mars Ben; hit look mighty jawleecious."

And so there in the space of moonlight they munched, with many watery mouthings, the sweet central hearts of the pilfered fruit. All around them the birds stirred in their sleep, rustling the leaves and letting go a few dreamy chirps. Overhead a great rift uncovered the almost purple sky.

They did not converse while they were eating, but when the repast was ended Judas apologized and explained in their joint behalf:

"Yo' see, Mars Ben, I 's yo' nigger an' yo''s my marster. W'at 's yo's is mine, an' w'at 's mine 's yo's, don' yo' see? an' hit ain't no

'nudder. Lor', Mars Ben, I been er-knowin' all my life 'at I was er-stealin' f'om yo', but I nebber dream 'at it was yo' 'at was er-takin' all er my bestest watermillions an' t'ings. 'Spec' we 's 'bout eben now, Mars Ben. Ef yo''s a leetle bit ahead ob me I's not er-keerin'; hit's all right.”

So they wiped their mouths and parted for the night.

66

Good-night, Mars Ben." "Good-night, Jude."

It would be cruel to follow them farther down the road of life, for rheumatism came, and then the war. Many an afternoon the trio, Ben, Judas, and Chawm, sat on the old veranda and listened to the far-off thunder of battle, not fairly realizing its meaning, but feeling that in some vague way it meant a great deal. After war, peace. After peace, reconstruction. After reconstruction, politics. Somebody took the trouble to insist upon having Ben Wilson go to the polls and vote. Of course Judas went with him. What a curious-looking twain they were, tottering along, almost side by side now, their limbs trembling and their eyes nearly blind!

"Got yer ticket, Jude?" inquired Ben.

"No, sah, dat's all right. Yo' jest drap one in, hit 'll do fo' bofe ob us," answered Judas. And it was done.

They died a year ago. Their graves are side by side, and so close together that a single slab might serve to cover them. If I were rich it should be an imperishable monument, inscribed simply: Ben and Judas, Æt. 70 years, one month, and fourteen days.

Maurice Thompson.

William Young.