come back with the water that has gone down the stream. The master
is with his fathers or he is whiling away his last days on the
courthouse steps of the town. Perhaps a chimney or two remain of
what was once the "big house" on the hill; possibly it is still
standing, but as forlorn and lifeless as a dead tree. The muscadine
grapes still grow in the swale and the persimmons in the pasture
field, but neither 'possum nor 'coon is left to eat them. The last
deer vanished years ago, the rabbits died in their baby coats and
the quail were killed in June. Old "Uncle Ike" has gone across the
"Great River" with his master, and his grandson glances at you
askance, nods sullenly, whistles to his half breed bird dog,
shoulders his three dollar gun and leaves you. He is typical of the
change and has caused it, this grandson of dear old Uncle Ike.

In the same way the white man is telling the black to abide upon the
plantation raising cotton and corn, and further than this nothing
will be required of him. He can cheat a white man or a black, steal
in a petty way anything that comes handy, live in marriage or out of
it to please himself, kill another negro if he likes, and lastly
shoot every wild thing that can be eaten, if only he raises the
cotton and the corn. But the white sportsmen of the South have never
willingly granted the shooting privilege in its entirety, and hence
this story. They have told him to trap the rabbits, pot the robins,
slaughter the doves, kill the song birds, but to spare the white
sportsman's game, the aristocratic little bobwhite quail.

In the beginning not so much damage to southern game interests could
be accomplished by our colored man and brother, however decided his
inclinations. He had no money, no ammunition and no gun. His weapons
were an ax, a club, a trap, and a hound dog; possibly he might own