"Lord o'massy! why! have to feed all the cattle!—whew!—ha!—whew! don't wonner ye com' away."
"You are a farmer."
"Yes."
"Well, I am a farmer, too."
Be ye—to New York?"
"Yes; how much land have you got?"
"A hundred and twenty-five acres; how much have you?"
"Just about the same. What's your land worth, here?"
"Some on't—what we call swamp-land—knder low and wet like, you know—that's worth five dollars an acre; and mainly it's worth a dollar and a half or two dollars—that's takin' a common trac' of upland. What's yours worth?"
"A hundred and fifty to two hundred dollars."
"What!"
"A hundred and fifty to two hundred."
"Dollars?"
"Yes."
"Not an acre?"
"Yes."
"Good Lord! yer might as well buy niggers to onst. Do you work any niggers?"
"No."
"May be they don't have niggers—that is, slaves—to New York."
"No, we do not. It's against the law."
"Yes, I heerd 'twas, some place. How do yer get yer work done?"
"I hire white men—Irishmen generally."
"Do they work good?"
"Yes, better than negroes, I think, and don't cost nearly as much."
"What do yer have to give 'em?"
