"Maybe none of our people would like to go away?"
"I dare say they wouldn't," said Preston carelessly. "They are
better off here than on most plantations. Uncle Randolph never
forbids his hands to have meat; and some planters do."
"Forbid them to have meat!" I said in utter bewilderment.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"They think it makes them fractious, and not so easy to
manage. Don't you know, it makes a dog savage to feed him on
raw meat? I suppose cooked meat has the same effect on men."
"But don't they get what they choose to eat?"
"Well, I should think not!" said Preston. "Fancy their asking
to be fed on chickens and pound cake. That is what they would
like."
"But cannot they spend their wages for what they like?"
"Wages!" said Preston.
"Yes," said I.
"My dear Daisy," said Preston, "you are talking of what you
just utterly don't understand; and I am a fool for bothering
you with it. Come! let us make it up and be friends."
He stooped to kiss me, but I stepped back.
"Stop," I said.
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