He watched the boy with a downward glance from the corner of his eye, but the little fellow maintained a dignified composure. How often did he wish Uncle Zack would forget those questions which now seemed to him a hundred times more infantile by the old man's interpretation! How many times had Uncle Zack prevailed in having his own way by merely referring to them! Now he continued: "An' onct, when I wuz settin' in mah doh, dis same li'l man come pokin' 'long an' sez, sez he: 'Unc Zack, how-cum you kin see yoh knuckles when yoh fist is shet up tight, an' cyarn' see 'em when yoh han's out straight?'" "That's one thing you never did tell me," the boy accusingly cried. "You couldn't!" "I couldn'?" he asked in pained surprise. "Does you mean I couldn'? Why, ain' you 'shamed of yohse'f talkin' dat a-way to ole Zack! I could a-tol' you, spry's yoh please, but it warn't good fer li'l boys jes' den." "Then tell me now!" Bip challenged. "How ole is you, honey?" came the irrelevant question. "I'll be seven next time," he answered. "Seven nex' time!" The wrinkled face became more wrinkled as he looked out over the fields and began to shake with laughter. "Seven nex' time! What you know 'bout dat!" "What's funny, Uncle Zack?" "Jes' dat, dat's all. Come 'long, now, an' we'll git de mule ready!" "Ain't you going to tell me 'bout my knuckles?" the little boy asked, as they moved to the horse-block where, in deep humility, an old saddle rested. "Shucks! Dat ain' no fun!" Zack contemptuously asserted. "Knuckles is cu'ious things, knuckles is; an' dar ain' no sense gittin' all riled up 'bout 'em, no way. Didn' I never tell you 'bout de bantam hen dat got her knuckles scyared up wid de water snake?" "No, you didn't! But tell me first 'bout mine!" The little boy was trotting to keep up now, and the old man lengthened his strides. "An' didn' I never tell you 'bout de chicken hawk as busted his knuckles all up tryin' to fly off wid de weather-vane down on de stable dar?" "Oh, no, Uncle Zack! But tell me 'bout mine, first!" The old negro stopped stock still and looked down with a frown. "You'se de mos' pestiferistes' pusson on dis heah place!" Then, catching an inspiration, he asked: "Why does you swaller when you'se chawin' a piece of cake?" "I don't know;--just do. I reckon!" "Dar now, Mesmie, ain' he a smart li'l man?" the old fellow chuckled. "Dat's de ve'y reason--you jes' do! An' dat's 'zackly what de knuckles does--dey jes' do! Now, since we done relieve ourse'ves on dat pint, le's move 'long!" Both seemed to have forgotten the discussion on thoroughbreds, but the old negro still pretended to be haughty; and now, slowly approaching the mule which narrowly watched from the corner of his eye, he casually observed: "De ve'y idee of sayin' mah mule's lazy! Why, he kin nacherly out-run de life outen a li'l sawed-off dumplin' lak one I sees standin' 'round heah!"