didn't rattle its tail when it poked out its head to bite me."

"Now, dare's reason in dat; dare's reason in all things," said Burl, looking at his little master, with his head turned slightly downward and his eyes turned slightly upward, showing more of the whites, which was his way of looking wise. "Things as has reason in 'em I likes. Says I to sich things, 'Come 'long, me an' you can agree; walk in my house an' take a cheer, an' make yo'se'f at home.' But things as hain't got reason in 'em, says I to sich things, 'You g' 'long; me an' you can't agree; I's no use for you, don't want you in my house. Scat!'"

"And, Burl, after I killed the snake I saw a painter."

"Now, Bushie, lettin' on agin, ain't you? Wusn't it our yaller Tom dare at de fort, gwine out to see his kinfolks 'mong de wilecats 'way off yander?"

"Do painters always scream like a skeered woman or a burnt baby, when they go a-jumping from one tree to another? And do they always keep a-swinging their long, limber tails?"

"Dat's de cretor's music, an' dem's de cretor's capers," replied Burl.

"Then I just know it was a painter," said Bushie, more certain of his panther than he had been of his snake; "for that was just the way he carried on."

"An' what did you do to de painter, Bushie? Kilt him, too, I 'spect."

"No, I just looked cross-eyed at him and skeered him away."

"H-yah, h-yah, h-yah!" laughed the black giant, till the fence shook and rattled.

"Now, Burl," said Bushie, regarding his black chum with great soberness, "didn't you tell me if ever I saw a painter I must skeer him away by looking cross-eyed at him?"

"Look at me, Bushie, de way you did at de painter," said Burl, with a broad grin. "I wants to see how well you've larnt your lesson."

Complying at once, Bushie pulled down and screwed up his quizzical little face in such a marvelous manner that eyes, nose, mouth, and coon-skin cap seemed on the point of breaking out into a family row beyond hope of ever coming again to a good understanding one with another.

"No wonder the varmint was skeered and went screamin' away!" And the black giant laughed till the forest shook to its roots, and every inquisitive squirrel and prying fox within a half mile peered warily forth from its hole to discover what jovial monster this might be that had invaded their leafy wilds. Suddenly checking his laughter, Burl said: "But, Bushie, I forgot to ax you if you axed your modder to let you come out here to de fiel'. Did you?"

"Yes."

"An' she said you might come, did she?"

"Just look up yonder, Burl, and see how the crows have gone to fighting."

"You g' 'long with your crows, an' look at me right, an' tell me if yo' modder said you might come."

"And Burl, after I skeered the painter away," remarked Bushie, "I saw two buffalo bulls fighting right on the high river-bank, and the one that got his tail up hill pushed the other clean——"

"You g' 'long with your bulls too, an' no mo' uf yo' dodgin', but look me right in de face an' answer my question."

Now, Bushie had never told a lie—that is to say, a downright lie—in all his life. It must be owned, however, that he would sometimes try to dodge the truth, by throwing out some remark quite foreign to the offense under consideration; an effective way of whipping the father of fibs around the stump, as many people who ought to know can testify. Or, failing to clear his skirts by this shift, he would go on picking at the mud-daubing in the wall, near which he might chance to be standing, or breaking off splinters from the fence on which he might chance to be sitting, without saying a word either foreign or akin to the matter in hand. But let him once be fairly cornered, convinced that dodging the question was out of the question, then would he turn himself square about, and looking you full in the face, out with the naked truth as bluntly as if he had "chawed" it into a hard wad and shot it at you from his pop-gun. So, in the present instance, throwing down the handful of splinters he had broken from the rail, he turned his big blue eyes full upon the face of his black inquisitor, and bluntly answered, "No, she didn't."

"Did she say you mus'n't come?"

"Yes, she did."

"Den, why didn't you mind yo' modder?"

"Because."

"Ah, Bushie, my boy, beca'se won't do. Dare's painters an' wolves fur bad little boys as runs away frum home an' hain't got nothin' to say fur 'emselves but beca'se. An' Injuns, too, wid cuttin' knives an' splittin' tomahawks fur sich boys; yes, an' bars too. W'y, Bushie, don't you 'member how we reads in de Good Book 'bout de bad town-boys who come out to de big road one day an' throwed dirt at de good ol' 'Lishy, de bal'-headed preacher, an' made ugly mouths at him, an' jawed him, an' sassed him, an' all de time kep' sayin', 'G' 'long, you ol' bal'-head; g' 'long, you ol' bal'-head!' Den de good ol' 'Lishy looked back an' cussed 'em, when two she-bars heerd him an' come out uf de woods wid der cubs at der heels, an' walked in on der hin' legs 'mong dem bad town-boys, a scratchin' an' a clawin', a bitin' an' a gnawin', right an' lef', an' neber stoppin' till dey had tore an' chawed 'em every one up. Now, you see, Bushie, dese bad town-boys had run 'way frum home dat mornin' when der modders had said dey mus'n't, an' hadn't nothin' to say fur 'emselves but beca'se."

"Burl, did you ever see Colonel Daniel Boone?"—breaking off this disagreeable subject as he would a rail-splinter.

"What's Colonel Danel Boone got to do wid de good ol' 'Lishy an' de bad town-boys? You look me right in de face an' tell me you's sorry fur not mindin' your modder. Now, ain't you?"

"No, I ain't."

"Ah, Bushrod, Bushrod, you's a hard little case, I'm afeard," said Burl, with a grave shake of the head; but determined to bring the delinquent to a sense of his evil ways, he thus proceeded: "But, s'posin' now, while you's runnin' 'way you's to git lost 'way down yander in de black holler whar I kilt de one-eyed wolf las' fall, an' hafter stay dare all night all by yo'se'f, nothin' fur a good warm supper but a cap full of pawpaws or pussimmons, an' nothin' fur a good warm feather-bed but a pile of dry leabs. Wouldn't you be sorry den?"

"Not much."

"He's a pow'ful hard little case" said Burl to himself; "I mus' try him a leetle stronger. Well, den, sposin' next mornin' you's to wake up an' see a she-bar, wid a pack uf hungry cubs at her heels all a-comin' at you on dare hin' legs, an' all begin a scratchin' an' a clawin', a bitin' an' a gnawin' all over you, an' all at once. Wouldn't you be sorry den?"

"Yes."

"I yi!" cried Burl triumphantly, "I thought dat would bring de little sinner to his milk." And having brought the young transgressor to know and feel the evil of his ways, he was now ready to answer the inquiry touching Colonel Daniel Boone, and more than ready, since it had a direct bearing upon subjects in which he took particular interest.

"So my little man would like to know ef I eber seed Colonel Danel Boone. Did I eber see a bar? Did I eber see a buck? Did I eber see a buffalo? Course, I's seed Colonel Danel Boone, many an' many a time, an' I knows him too, like a book."

"Is he the greatest man in the world, Burl? I've heard he was."

To which, with that profound air which men are apt to assume when called upon for an opinion touching a matter of moment, and aware what weight their judgment will carry in the minds of their listeners, and that it therefore behooves them to be cautious in expressing it, Big Black Burl, with emphatic pauses between phrases and now and then an emphatic gesture, thus made response:

"Well——take him up dis side an' down dat——at de britch an' in de barr'l——Mars Dan—Colonel Boone, I mean—is——I s'pose you may say——de greates' man in de worl', but," an emphatic gesture, "if you mean by dat, is he de greates' Injun-fighter in de worl', den says I, No, sir, Colonel Boone ain't de greates' Injun-fighter