My coachman brought me a letter from a man named Du Bois. I have never met this man, and it was hard for me to determine his character until he identified himself as a colored man in his last line. This I suppose explains his sympathy for my colored employees, and yet he was so eloquent that I would have been convinced that he was a northerner like myself. The only reason in fact that I took his words seriously is that I felt while reading them that I was conversing with my father, who used to lecture me on ways of accruing capital. I can’t imagine what Du Bois means when he writes that the tales paint the heavy reality that will fall on the shoulders of my wife and I. With God’s blessing of good weather, the only thing falling will be these grapes to the ground, if I don’t get more men soon to harvest them.

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