Daddy Jake was the oldest negro on the plantation—perhaps the oldest in the State. He had been raised by Major Waldron’s grandfather in Virginia, and remembered well the Revolutionary War; and then he had been brought to Mississippi by Major Waldron’s father, and remembered all about the War of 1812 and the troubles with the Indians. It had been thirty years or more since Daddy Jake had done any work. He had a very comfortable cabin; and although his wives (for the old man had been married several times) were all dead, and many of his children were now old and infirm, he had a number of grandchildren and great-grand-children who attended to his wants; and then, too, his master cared very particularly for his comfort, and saw that Daddy Jake had good fires, and that his clothes were kept clean and mended, and his food nicely cooked; so the old man passed his days in peace and quiet. The children found him now lying stretched out on a bench in front of his cabin, while Polly, his great-grand-daughter, was scratching and “looking” his head. “We’ve come for you to tell us about the Owl, Daddy,” said Diddie, after she had given the old man some cake and a bottle of muscadine wine that her mother had sent to him. “All right, little misses,” replied Daddy; and, sitting up on the bench, he lifted Tot beside him, while Diddie and Dumps sat on the door-sill, and Dilsey and Chris and Riar and Polly sat flat on the ground. “Well, yer see de Owl,” began Daddy Jake, “he usen fur ter see in de daytime des same ez he do now in de night; an’ one time he wuz in his kitchen er cookin’ uv his dinner, wen hyear come de Peafowl er struttin’ by. Well, in dem days de Peafowl he nuber had none er dem eyes on his tail wat he got now; his tail wuz des er clean blue.” “Did you see him, Daddy?” interrupted Dumps. “No, honey, I ain’t seed ’im wen he wuz dat way; dat wuz fo’ my time; but den I know hit’s de truf, do; his tail wuz er clar blue dout’n no eyes on it; an’ he wuz er pow’ful proud bird, an’, ’stid er him ’ten’in ter his bizness, he des prumeraded de streets an’ de roads, an’ he felt hisse’f too big fur ter ten’ ter his wuck. Well, de Owl knowed dat, an’ so wen he seed de Peafowl walkin’ by so big, an’ him in de kitchen er cookin’, it kinter hu’t his feelin’s, so he tuck’n holler’d at de Peafowl, “‘Whooo cooks fur you-oo-a? Whooo cooks fur you-oo-a? I cooks fur my folks, But who cooks fur y’ all-ll-l?’ “Now he jes done dat out’n pyo’ sass’ness, caze he knowed de Peafowl felt hisse’f ’bove cookin’; an’ wen de Peafowl hyeard dat, he ’gun ter git mad; an’ he ’lowed dat ef’n de Owl said dat ter him ergin dey’d be er fuss on his han’s. Well, de nex’ day de Owl seed him comin,’ an’ he ’gun fer ter scrape out’n his pots an’ skillets, an’ ez he scrape ’em he holler’d out, “‘Whoo cooks fur you-oo-a? Whoo cooks fur you-oo-a? Ef you’ll cook fur my folks, Den I’ll cook fur y’ all-l-lll.’