"What foolish talk," I answered, paying little heed to what he said. "No; the muskrat is as serious as Mr. Jackson, and knows just as much about finance and good government." "Nonsense, Fox! General Jackson is a great man," I answered, impatiently. "Yes, in some things; but there never was a man in office who knew less of its duties." "Well, he is a fine soldier that you will admit," I answered, feeling about for some common ground on which we could stand. "Yes; but all the air in heaven will not be enough to supply those who will sing his praises in the days to come, not as a soldier, but as a Statesman, with a great, big, fat, succulent S. He is to our liking, though—for if by chance freemen find a man with a genius for killing people, they straightway make him President or something of that kind. Fitness to the winds, my boy, tra la! Give me liberty or give me death, but in any event, something to worship, if it is only a seven-months’ calf." Not agreeing with Fox in anything he said, and indeed not knowing much about it one way or the other, I made no reply, and so the subject dropped. Stopping farther on to refresh our animals in the sweet waters of the gentle Mauvaise Terre, its dainty fish hurrying from their hiding-places, swam in and out about our horses’ feet, as if in greeting of these new monsters come to visit them in their quiet home. Beyond, on the sloping bank, a robin, old and gray, eyed us critically, and at last, as if seeing enough, gave a croak of warning and hopped briskly away. Farther up the steep incline, as if nature were determined to exhibit all her stores, a covey of quail ran scurrying across the way, but stopping on the other side, looked down on us, and curiously, as if having naught to fear. Abandoning ourselves to the dreamy sweetness of the hour, there came presently from out the topmost branches of a towering cottonwood the blackbirds’ swelling chorus, rising and falling on the morning air like an anthem of praise and thanksgiving, as indeed it was. "How is that, Gilbert, compared with our Appletop choir?" Fox asked, shaking his head. Not answering, I looked away; and far off, beneath an overhanging oak, a gentle doe, with her young beside her, stood drinking. Looking in that direction, Fox spoke again, but now soberly enough. "See, Gilbert, in this Garden of Eden we are still thought to be harmless like the other animals; and to think," he went on without stopping, "that such a world should be bartered for an apple with a worm in it! But hark!" and as he ceased there came to us, as in farewell and from some far-off place, the soft cooing of the turtle-dove, sweetest and saddest of all country sounds and fittest note of its remote and restful solitudes. Listening, but without speech, we rode on, and regretfully, loath to leave a scene so full of beauty and the fragrant sweetness of life. *CHAPTER LII* *LIFE AND DEATH*