The old man's countenance assumed an expression of unwonted seriousness,
and he shook his head doubtfully.

"I dunno 'bout dat, suh. It mought cos' mo', en it mought cos' less, ez
fuh ez money is consarned. I ain' denyin' you could cl'ar up dat trac'
er Ian' fer a hund'ed er a couple er hund'ed dollahs,--ef you wants ter
cl'ar it up. But ef dat 'uz my trac' er Ian', I would n' 'sturb it, no,
suh, I would n'; sho 's you bawn, I would n'."

"But why not?" I asked.

"It ain' fittin' fer grapes, fer noo groun' nebber is."

"I know it, but"--

"It ain' no yeathly good fer cotton, 'ca'se it's top low."

"Perhaps so; but it will raise splendid corn."

"I dunno," rejoined Julius deprecatorily. "It's so nigh de swamp dat de
'coons'll eat up all de cawn."

"I think I'll risk it," I answered.

"Well, suh," said Julius, "I wushes you much joy er yo' job. Ef you has
bad luck er sickness er trouble er any kin', doan blame _me_. You can't
say ole Julius did n' wa'n you."

"Warn him of what, Uncle Julius?" asked my wife.