But I kep' on a-p'intin', with a foolish kind o' grin, Enjoyin' all the wickedness that he was holdin' in. An' of a sudden I could feel a tremble in his feet; I knew that he was gettin' mad an' fillin' up with heat. His breath come fast an' faster, but he couldn't say a damn-- He'd the feelin's of a panther an' the quiet of a lamb. An' his foot come creepin' for'ards an' he tetched me with his boot An' he whispered low an' anxious, an says he: "Why don't ye shoot?'' An' the buck he see the time had come fer him an' us to part An' away he ran as Philo pulled the trigger of his heart. He had panthers in his bosom, he had horns upon his mind; An' the panthers spit an' rassied an' their fur riz up behind; An' he gored me with his languidge an' he clawed me with his eye 'Til I wisht that, when I done him dirt, I hadn't been so nigh. He scairt the fish beneath us an' the birds upon the shore An' he spoke of all his sufferin' which he couldn't stan' no more; Then he sot an' thought an' muttered as he pushed a mile er so Like a man that's lost an' weary on the mountain of his woe. An' he eyed me over cur'ous an' with pity on his face An' he seemed to be a sortin' words to make 'em fit the case. "Of all the harmless critters that I ever met," says he, "There ain't not none more harmlesser--my God!-- than what you be." An' he added, kind o' sorrowful, an' hove a mighty sigh: "I'd be 'shamed t' meet another deer an' look him in the eye. God knows a man that p'ints so never orter hev no grub, What game are you expectin' fer t' slaughter with a club?" An' I answered with a riddle: "It has head an' eyes an' feet An' is black an' white an' harmless, but a fearful thing to meet; It's a long an' pesky animal as any in the county; Can't ye guess?--I've ketched a pome an' I'll give ye half the bounty." A VOICE OF THE FIELDS The red was on the clover an' the blue was in the sky; There was music in the meadow, there was dancing in the rye, An' I heard her call the scattered flock in pastures far away An' the echo in the wooded hills: "Co' day! Co' day! Co' day!" O fair was she--my lady love--an' lithe as the willow-tree, An' like a miser's money are her parting words t' me. O the years are long an' lonesome since my sweet- heart went away! An' I think o' her as I call the flocks: "Co' day! Co' day! Co' day!" Her cheeks have stole the clover's red, her lips the odored air, An' the glow o' the morning sunlight she took away in her hair; Her voice had the meadow music, her form an' her laughing eye