"Dee-o-egg, dog," was the prompt response. Nan looked at Uncle Plato to see if he was joking, but he was solemnity itself. "E-double-egg, egg!" he continued. "Now spell John A. Murrell," said Nan. Murrell, the land pirate, was one of her favourite heroes at this time. Uncle Plato pretended to be very much shocked. "Why, honey, dat man wuz rank pizen. En spozen he wa'nt, how you speck me ter spell sump'n er somebody which I ain't never laid eyes on? How I gwineter spell Johnny Murrell, an' him done dead dis many a long year ago?" "Well, spell goose, then," said Nan, seeing a flock of geese marching stiffly in single file across a field near the road. Uncle Plato looked at them carefully enough to take their measure, and then shook his head solemnly. "Deyer so many un um, honey, dey'd be monstus hard fer ter spell." "Well, just spell one of them then," Nan suggested. "Which un, honey?" "Any one you choose." Uncle Plato studied over the matter a moment, and again shook his head. "Uh-uh, honey; dat ain't nigh gwine ter do. Ef you speck me fer ter spell goose, you got ter pick out de one you want me ter spell." "Well, spell the one behind all the rest." Again Uncle Plato shook his head. "Dat ar goose got half-grown goslin's, an' I ain't never larnt how ter spell goose wid half-grown goslin's. You ax too much, honey." "Then spell the one next to head." Nan was inexorable. "Dat ar ain't no goose," replied Uncle Plato, with an air of triumph; "she's a gander." "I don't believe you know how to spell goose," said Nan, with something like scorn. "Don't you fool yo'se'f, honey," remarked Uncle Plato in a tone of confidence. "You git me a great big fat un, not too ol', an' not too young, an' fill 'er full er stuffin', an' bake 'er brown in de big oven, an' save all de drippin's, an' put 'er on de table not fur fum whar I mought be settin' at, an' gi' me a pone er corn bread, an' don't have no talkin' an' laughin' in de game--an' ef I don't spell dat goose, I'll come mighty nigh it, I sholy will. Ef I don't spell 'er, dey won't be nuff lef' fer de nex' man ter spell. You kin 'pen' on dat, honey." Nan suddenly called Uncle Plato's attention to the carriage horses, which were hitched to the waggon. She said she knew their names well enough when they were pulling the carriage, but now-- "Haven't you changed the horses, Uncle Plato?" she asked. "How I gwine change um, honey?" "I mean, haven't you changed their places?" "No, ma'am!" he answered with considerable emphasis. "No, ma'am; ef I wuz ter put dat off hoss in de lead, you'd see some mighty high kickin'; you sho would." "Oh, let's try it!" cried Nan, with real eagerness. "Dem may try it what choosen ter try it," responded Uncle Plato, dryly, "but I'll ax um fer ter kindly le' me git win' er what deyer gwine ter do, an' den I'll make my 'rangerments fer ter be somers out'n sight an' hearin'."