"How many miles, sar? ha! masser, I don 'zactly reckon I ken tell ou—not 'cisely, sar—how many miles it is, not 'zactly, 'cisely, sar."
"How is that?—you don't what?"
"I don't 'zactly reckon I can give you de drection excise about de miles, sar."
"Oh! but how many miles do you think it is; is it two miles?"
"Yes, sar; as de roads is now, I tink it is just about two miles. Dey's long ones, dough, I reckon."
"Long ones? you think it's more than two miles, don't you, then?"
"Yes, sar, I reckon it's four or five miles."
"Four or five! four or five long ones or short ones, do you mean?"
"I don 'zactly know, sar, wedder dey is short ones or long ones, sar, but I reckon you find em middlin' long; I spec you'll be about two hours 'fore you be done gone all the way to Mass W.'s."
He walked on with us a few rods upon a narrow path, until we came to a crossing of the stream; pointing to where it continued on the other side, he assured me that it went right straight to Mr. W.'s plantation. "You juss keep de straight road, massar," he repeated several times, "and it'll take you right dar, sar."
He had been grinning and bowing, and constantly touching his hat, or holding it in his hand during our conversation, which I understood to mean, that he would thank me for a dime. I gave it to him, upon which he repeated his contortions and his form of direction—"Keep de straight road." I rode through the brook, and he called out again—"You keep dat road right straight, and it'll take you right straight dar." I rode up the bank and entered the oak wood, and
