“They’d think ’twar a wolf,” said Peter Rood, still lying at length on the ground. Mink had his sensibilities. On these harmonious numbers he piqued himself. He felt affronted. “A leetle mo’, an’ I’ll break this jug over yer head. Nobody ain’t a-goin’ ter think ez my singin’ air a wolf.” “Ye hand it hyar,” said Pete; “nobody gits a fair show at that jug but you-uns.” As he rose to his knees one foot caught in a grapevine, in his haste. “Wait till it be empty,” said Mink, making a feint of lifting it to his mouth. Then turning suddenly, he faced Pete Rood as he staggered to his feet, and dealt a blow which sent that worthy once more prone upon the ground. There was a jumble of excited protest from the others, each vociferously trying to quiet his companions. Mink was squaring off with clenched fists. “Kem on,” he observed, “thar’s ground enough hyar fur ez many ez kin kiver it.” “Look-a-hyar,” exclaimed Jerry Price, whose grief that the placidities of the festivity should be frustrated very nearly resembled a regard for law and order, “ye two boys hev jes’ got ter quit fightin’ an’ sech, an’ spilin’ the enjyement o’ the rest o’ we-uns. Quit foolin’, Mink. Ye ain’t hurt no-ways, air ye, Pete?” “Laws-a-massy, naw,” said Pete unexpectedly. “Mink never knocked me down nohow. I jes’ cotched my foot in a grapevine. That’s all.” But he lifted himself heavily, and he limped as he walked to a rock at a little distance and sat down. Mink with his sudden change of temper let the encounter pass as a bit of fun. He referred to the jug frequently afterward, and again burst into song:— “Oh, ah! Oh, ah! The weevil’s in the wheat, the worm’s in the corn, The moon’s got a twist in the eend o’ her horn; Fur the witch, she grinned and batted her eye, An’ gin ’em an ail ez she went by Ter fresk in the frost, ‘an’ show,’ she said, ‘I kin dance on my ankle-j’ints an’ swaller my head, An’ how I do it, oh, ah! oh, ah! I’d tell ef ’twarn’t fur the mornin’ star.’” The others joined tumultuously in the chorus. One sprang up, dancing a clumsy measure and striking his feet together with an uncouth deftness worthy of all praise in the estimation of his comrades. They broke into ecstatic guffaws, in the midst of which Mink’s “Oh, ah! Oh, ah!” heralding the next verse, seemed a voice a long way off. Down the ravine was visible a collection of great white trees, girdled and dead long ago, standing in some field, all so tiny in the distance that it was as if the fingers of a ghostly hand had pointed upward at the group of revelers on the ridge.