“Well, I bet he do,” said Dumps. “I jes bet he tells M-O-O-O-R-E S-T-O-R-I-E-S than anybody. An’, Uncle Bob, efn he tells the deb’l sump’n ’boutn three little white girls an’ three little niggers runnin’ erway fum they teacher an’ wadin’ in er ditch, then I jes b’lieve _he made it up!_ Now that’s jes what I’ b’lieve; an’ can’t you tell the deb’l so, Uncle Bob?” “Who? Me? Umph, umph! yer talkin’ ter de wrong nigger now, chile! I don’t hab nuffin te do wid ’im mysef! I’se er God-fyearn nigger, I is; an’, let erlone dat, I keeps erway fum dem jay birds. Didn’ yer neber hyear wat er trick he played de woodpecker?” “No, Uncle Bob,” answered Diddie; “what did he do to him?” “Ain’t yer neber hyeard how come de wood-pecker’s head ter be red, an’ wat makes de robin hab er red bres’?” “Oh, I know ’bout the robin’s breast,” said Diddie. “When the Saviour was on the cross, an’ the wicked men had put er crown of thorns on him, an’ his forehead was all scratched up an’ bleedin’, er little robin was sittin’ on er tree lookin’ at him; an’ he felt so sorry ’bout it till he flew down, an’ tried to pick the thorns out of the crown; an’ while he was pullin’ at ’em, one of ’em run in his breast, an’ made the blood come, an’ ever since that the robin’s breast has been red.” “Well, I dunno,” said the old man, thoughtfully, scratching his head; “I dunno, dat _mout_ be de way; I neber hyeard it, do; but den I ain’t sayin’ tain’t true, caze hit mout be de way; an’ wat I’m er stan’in’ by is dis, dat dat ain’t de way I hyeard hit.” “Tell us how you heard it, Uncle Bob,” asked Diddie. “Well, hit all come ’long o’ de jay bird,” said Uncle Bob. “An’ efn yer got time fur ter go ’long o’ me ter de shop, an’ sot dar wile I plats on dese baskits fur de oberseer’s wife, I’ll tell jes wat I hyear ’boutn hit.” Of course they had plenty of time, and they all followed him to the shop, where he turned some baskets bottomside up for seats for the children, and seating himself on his accustomed stool, while the little darkies sat around on the dirt-floor, he began to weave the splits dexterously in an out, and proceeded to tell the story. CHAPTER XII HOW THE WOODPECKER’S HEAD AND THE ROBIN’S BREAST CAME TO BE RED “Well,” began Uncle Bob, “hit wuz all erlong er de jay bird, jes ez I wuz tellin’ yer. Yer see, Mr. Jay Bird he fell’d in love, he did, ’long o’ Miss Robin, an’ he wuz er courtin’ her, too; ev’y day de Lord sen’, he’d be er gwine ter see her, an’ er singin’ ter her, an’ er cyarin’ her berries an’ wums; hut, somehow or udder, she didn’t pyear ter tuck no shine ter him. She’d go er walkin’ ’long ’im, an’ she’d sing songs wid ’im, an’ she’d gobble up de berries an’ de wums wat he fotch, but den w’en hit come ter marry’n uv ’im, she wan’t der.