"Has he tuck de wings uf a duck an' flew away?"--giving a broad stare at the open sky, then, with a disappointed shake of the head, added: "N-o-h. Has he tuck de claws uf a coon an' clum a tree?"--attentively scanning the tree-tops. "N-o-h," with another disappointed shake of the head. "May be he's changed hisself into a groun'-squirrel, an' crep' into a hollow log"--peeping narrowly into the hollow trunk of a fallen tree near by, "N-o-h. Den whar can my little man a-went to?"--now quite desperate, taking a general survey of the neighboring country, and scratching his back with the knuckle of his thumb. "'Pon my honor, I b'lieve he's plowin' on tudder side de fiel'; thought I heerd him a-whistlin ober dar"--feigning to listen for a moment. "N-o-h; jes' Bob White a-whistlin' ober dar. Den sholey he's tuck his gun an' went to de lick to shoot us a buffalo calf for dinner; or, if not dat, he's went a Injun-huntin' wid my frien' Cap'n Kenton. Sho's you bawn, he's went a Injun-huntin' wid my frien' Cap'n Kenton. W'y, dar he is!" exclaimed he with delighted surprise, bringing his eyes at last to bear upon his little master, who, having made a manful effort to call back his manhood, was now the howling urchin no longer, though he did look a little chap-fallen, nor had he yet left off rubbing his legs. "Dar's my little man, come back to tell me how my frien' Cap'n Kenton is gittin' along. While he was gone I thought I heerd a buffalo bull-calf ober dar in de woods a bellerin' as if Grumbo had him by de tail; but when I went to look fur him I couldn't find him. Den I thought it mus' be a wilecat kitten a-mewin' ober dar in de woods, but couldn't find a kitten nudder. Wonder ef my little man couldn't tell me what it was I heerd." The little man looked as if he knew nothing at all about the matter, and was quite willing to take Burl's word for it and let the noise in question pass either for the bellowing of a buffalo bull-calf or for the mewing of a wild-cat kitten, he cared not a whistle which. By this time Burl had climbed back over the fence into the field, and was now slowly turning his horse and plow to run his next furrow. "Well, Bushie, me an' ol' Corny's had our blow. So we mus' pitch in agin an' go to scratching', an' keep a-scratchin' an' keep a-scratchin'; ef we don't, our little marster won't hab no roasin'-ears fur summer, no johnny-cakes an' punkin-pies fur winter. So you jes' stay whar you is, an' when de dinner horn blows I'll put you on ol' Cornwallis an' take you home a-ridin'." And with a pleasant smell of fresh earth and growing herbs floating about them in the air, plow and plowman went their way, the singing recommencing with the work, as naturally as consequence follows cause: "Squirly is a pretty bird, He carries a bushy tail, He eats up all de farmer's corn An' hearts it on de rail. He hearts it on de rail, young gals, He hearts it on de rail."