Excerpt from Pine Ridge Plantation: Or the Trials and Successes of a Young Cotton Planter
"Hunt, Hunt, come here, sir!"
Huntley Robertson, the owner of the name, sprang instantly out of his hard and narrow cot-bed, and in so doing struck his head a ringing whack against one of the rafters of the low loft in which he slept.
"Yes, sir, at once, sir!" he answered, as he groped about in the gloom for some of his clothes.
"Don't you know it's after four?" came in the same voice.
There was nothing alarming in the words; but Hunt recognized the imperative tone of farmer Warren, who was in part his guardian and in whole his master; and he was startled at seeing the first gleams of daylight stealing through the narrow window of the loft, and he had been cautioned to be astir before half-past four.
"It's well I have so few clothes, and such old ones," he said to himself, as he quickly dressed, "for they don't take much time."
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