The noise did indeed bring Billy's aunt out on a tour of investigation. She had to knock a plank off the hen-house with an axe before Jimmy's release could be accomplished. He was lifted down, red, angry, sticky, and perspiring, and was indeed a sight to behold. “Billy got to all time perpose something to get little boys in trouble,” he growled, “and got to all time get 'em stuck in a hole in a chicken-house.” “My nephew's name is William,” corrected she. “You perposed this here yo'self!” cried an indignant Billy. “Me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln don' know nothin' 't all 'bout no rabbit's eggs sence we's born.” “It doesn't matter who proposed it,” said his aunt firmly. “You are going to be punished, William. I have just finished one of your night-shirts. Come with me and put it on and go to bed. Jimmy, you go home and show yourself to your mother.” “Pick up yo' shirt-tail offer the groun' what I tore off, Jimmy,” advised Billy, “an' take it home to yo' ma. Aunt Minerva,” he pleaded, following mournfully behind her, “please don't put me to bed; the Major he don' go to bed no daytimes; I won't never get me no mo' eggs to make rabbit's eggs outer.” CHAPTER VIII TELLERS OF TALES The days flew rapidly by. Miss Minerva usually attempted to train Billy all the morning, and by the midday dinner hour she was so exhausted that she was glad to let him play in the front yard during the afternoon. Here he was often joined by the three children whose acquaintance he had made the day after his arrival, and the quartette became staunch friends and chums. All four were sitting in the swing one warm spring day, under the surveillance of Billy's aunt, sewing on the veranda. “Let's tell tales,” suggested Jimmy. “All right,” agreed Frances. “I'll tell the first. Once there's--” “Naw, you ain't neither,” interrupted the little boy. “You all time talking 'bout you going to tell the first tale. I'm going to tell the first tale myself. One time they's--” “No, you are not either,” said Lina positively. “Frances is a girl and she ought to be the first if she wants to. Don't you think so, Billy?” “Yas, I does,” championed he; “go on, Frances.” That little girl, thus encouraged, proceeded to tell the first tale: