“Well, suh, dey went dar, an' dar dey foun' 'im. Yasser! Mr. Owl sholy wuz dar. He wuz settin' up on a lim' wid his head flung under his wing, an' 'twuz all dey kin do fer ter wake 'im up. Dey hollered at 'im des loud ez dey kin, an' bimeby he woke up an' tuck his head out from under his wing an' look at um des ez solium ez a camp-meetin' preacher. Dey 'buze 'im--dey quoiled--dey call 'im out'n his name--dey jowered at 'im--but tain't do no good. He des sot dar, he did, an' look at um, an' he ain't say nuthin' 'tall. Dis make Mr. Crow an' Mr. Jaybird mighty mad, kaze when folks quoil an' can't git nobody for ter quoil back at um, it make um wusser mad dan what dey wuz at fust. Dat night when de yuther birds come home, Mr. Crow an' Mr. Jaybird, dey had a mighty tale ter tell. Some b'lieved um an' some didn't b'lieve um. Miss Jenny Wren, an' Mr. Jack Sparrow, an' Miss Cat Bird, dey b'lieved um, an' dey went on so twel de yuther birds can't hear der own years, skacely. But de big birds, dey sorter helt off, an' say dey gwine ter give Mr. Owl anudder chance. “Well, suh, dey give Mr. Owl two mo' trials, let alone one, an' eve'y time dey lef 'im dar fer ter watch an' gyard, dey'd fin' 'm fast asleep. An' dat ain't all; dey skivered dat somebody done bin slippin' in an' totin' off der provisions. [Illustration: 0099] “Dat settle de hash fer Mr. Owl. De birds sot a day an' fotch Mr. Owl up fer ter stan' trial, an' dey laid down de law dat fum dat time forrud dat Mr. Owl shan't go wid de yuther birds, an' dat de nex' time dey kotch 'im out de word wuz ter be give, an' dey wuz all ter fall foul un 'im an' frail'm out. Den dey say dat when he sleep he got ter sleep wid bofe eyes wide open, a'n dey lay it down dat he got ter keep watch all night long, an' dat whensomever he hear any fuss he got ter holler out: “'Who--who--who pesterin' we all?' “Dat de way de law stan's,” continued Har-bert, placing his basket of corn on the top rail of the fence, “an dat de way it gwine ter stan'. Down ter dis day, when Mr. Owl asleep, he sleep wid his eye wide open, an' when de yuther birds ketch him out, dey light on to 'im like folks puttin' out fire, an' when he ups an' hollers in de night-time, you kin hear 'im say: “'Who--who--who pesterin' we all?'” With a laugh, in which Joe Maxwell heartily joined, Harbert turned his attention to calling his hogs, and the way he did this was as interesting to Joe as the story had been. He had a voice of wonderful strength and power, as penetrating and as melodious as the notes of a cornet. On a still day, when there was a little moisture in the air, Harbert could make himself heard two miles. The range over which the hogs roamed was at least a mile and a half from the pen. In calling them the negro broke into a song. It was only the refrain that the distant hogs could hear, but as it went echoing over the hills and valleys it seemed to Joe to be the very essence of melody. The song was something like this: