"Don't you wish you had Betsy Grumbo out here, Burl? How she'd make their black feathers fly! And the woods are alive with squirrels. Just see how they are running up and down the trees and along the top of the fence." "Ef I had Betsy Grumbo out here, de woods wouldn't be alive wid squirrels, an' dem black rogues up dar wouldn't be so near by--so easy an' sassy." "Why wouldn't they?" inquired Bushie. "Beca'se dey'd smell Betsy's breaf, an' make 'emselves scarce." "What's the matter with Betsy's breath?" "W'y, Bushie, if Betsy is always belchin' gunpowder, don't you know her breaf mus' smell uf gunpowder?" "Burl," said Bushie, turning his eyes from the crows and fixing them wide open on his black chum's face, "I killed a rattlesnake yesterday, while I was out in the woods hunting May-apples--a rattlesnake as big as your leg." "Now, Bushie, ain't you lettin' on?" said Burl with an incredulous grin. "Wusn't it a black-snake, big as your leg?" "Do rattlesnakes always rattle with their tails when they poke out their heads to bite a man?" "Yas, always; or to bite a boy, either." "And are rattlesnakes ever black?" "Neber, 'ceptin on de back, an' dare dey's brown an' yaller." "Well, then, I reckon it must have been a black-snake, for it was black, and 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?"