"Aha, aha, you 'members dat does yer? An' dat's jes' whut he wus--mo' finer'n all uv 'em 'cep'n in dat weak place his hard haid make, whin he wus er lit'le bit'r tree. An' er gal er boy"--she looked earnestly into each face--"kin be sassy an' hard-haid'd whin dey's lit'le, an' whin dey gits grow'd up an' 'gins ter rass'lin' wid triberlations, de ve'y fus' fight dey gits in, dat weak bad, hard-haided place gwine give way fus', an' dey'll splinter all ter pieces jes' like 'Simmon Tree done." "Can Bob Wind whip all the trees?" "He sho' kin, son, dat is, enny uv 'em dat's so big'rty an' hard-haid'd dey can't lis'n ter nobody. I tell yer dar's er plenty er Bob Win's ter whoop all de biggerty hard-haids 'mongst de men fokes, too." "I bet there isn't any Bob Wind that can whip my papa." "No, my Lawd, dat dey ain't," she laughed softly, then added: "Howcum you reck'n yo' pa come ter be sich er big man?" she stopped to hear his answer. "Cause he's my papa," defended the child. "'Tain't no sich er thing. Plenty fokes gots papa's 'sides you. Hit's 'caze he got de bignes' ter mine whut his ole lady say ter him ev'y onct in erwhile. Come 'long, we ain' gwine git er Lawd's bit er dinn'r ef we doan git out er dese hyah woods." XI BIG EYE BUZZARD "Mammy, less go up to Jim Weed's house, he's going to give me one of his buzzard eggs." Willis was halfway to the gate. "Come back hyah, boy,--I ain' gwine stirry er step fum dis hyah tree tell I churns dis milk fur Kitty, an' ennyhow yond'r come comp'ny ter see yer," she nodded towards Mary Van, who was tip-toeing to unfasten the gate. "'Tain't anybody but Mary Van, and she can go, too." "Where, Willis?" and the little girl ran past him to the joggling board[1] near Phyllis; "Put me up, Mammy!" [1] Joggling-board.--A long, springy board about three feet from the ground, made fast at each end, and so arranged that children may jump up and down, or joggle on it. Phyllis dropped the churn top in place and went to the assistance of Mary Van. "Come on, son," she called over her shoulder, "an' let dem buzzard aigs hatch right whar dey is, 'caze de Lawd knows dey's in de right nes'." "Jim Weed's er nice boy," resented Willis, refusing to come. "He ain' nuthin' but po' white trash." She stood with her arms akimbo, waiting to lift him beside Mary Van. "Come on, an' hole Ma'y Van's han' so bofe uv yer kin stay on de bo'rd whin yer joggles." "He's not poor white trash," exclaimed Willis hotly, "he's got a pigeon house, and a dog house, and a bird house, and a--"