"Care? Care!" I burst forth, leaning forward with my palms on the ground. "I never heard such music in all my life, and I have heard men play who receive a thousand dollars a night! Where did you get it?... How do you do it?" The satyr secured his worn coat across his chest with one button, then bent toward me and replied earnestly. "I guess it's bornd with me. I've never ben no 'count frum a kid. Wuzn't wuth shucks--never. Jis' wouldn't work--I couldn't. They's no work in me. When they tried to make me I'd run off. I'd run fur off in th' woods 'n' lay 'roun' all day, a-lis'n'n'. I heerd thin's." He stretched out one gaunt arm and waved it with an uncertain, twisty motion. "I heerd thin's. More 'n' th' birds a-cheepin' 'n' a-twitt'r'n' 'n' th' squir'ls a-barkin' 'n' a-yappin' 'n' th' bees a-junin' in th' flowers. They's other thin's--lots o' thin's I heerd. Th' crick's got a song--it's _sich_ a song--'bout th' purties' 't is' I reck'n, 'cus it's changeabler. 'N' they ain't no en' to th' chune th' win' sings. Sometimes it's lazy 'n' sleepy, 'n' yo' wan' to duck yo' head 'n' snooze, 'n' ag'n it's pow'ful strong 'n' loud 'n' almos' skeers yo' with its shoutin'. 'N' they's other thin's--thin's I can't tell yo' 'bout 'cus I don't know whut they air--but I hears 'em. I c'n jis' shet my eyes any day out in th' deep woods whur they ain't nothin' but woods, 'n' fus' thin' I know I'm a-floatin' on a cloud with music ever-whurs. When I's a kid I went hongry fur some 'n' to play on, so one day I foun' me a big reed, 'n' I made me a w'is'le with holes in it. I jes' mus' play." He rose to his feet, put his pipe away without knocking the ashes out, and carefully tucked his oilcloth bundle under his arm. "Pow'ful good supper, 'n' I wuz hongry _right_! 'Blige' to yo', sho. Good-by!" He swung around and started across the plateau. I leaped up quickly. "Come back again soon, Satyr!" I called. "A supper any time for ten minutes fiddling!" He waved his hand, but made no reply. A few moments later, from down the road, growing fainter and fainter, I again heard that fantastic rhyme: "Rabbit in th' log, Ain't got no rabbit dog." CHAPTER EIGHT IN WHICH I PITCH MY TENT TOWARD HEBRON FOR THE SPACE OF AN AFTERNOON I have been to Lizard Point.