Shirley Dandridge! A high-sounding name, with something of long-linked culture, of arrogant heritage. In some subtle way it seemed to clothe the personality of which Valiant had had that fleeting roadside glimpse. Uncle Jefferson stared meditatively skyward whence dropped the bubbling lark song. “Dat-ar buhd kin sing!” he said. “Queeh dat folkses cyan’ do dat, dey so moughty much smahtah. Nevah knowed nobody could, dough, cep’n on’y Miss Shirley. Tain’ er buhd nowhah in de fiel’s dat she cyan’ mock.” “You mean she knows their calls?” [Pg 77] “Yas, suh, ev’y soun’. Done fool me heap er times. Dah’s de cook’s li’l boy et Rosewood dat wuz sick las’ summah, en he listen ev’y day ter de mockin’-buhd dat nes’ in one ob de tulip-trees. He jes’ love dat buhd next ter he mammy, en when et come fall en et don’ come no mo’, he ha’at mos’ broke. He jes’ lay en cry en git right smaht wussur. Et las’ seems lak de li’l boy gwine die. When Mis’ Shirley heah dat, she try en try till she jes’ git dat buhd’s song ez pat ez de Lawd’s Prayah, en one evenin’ she gwine en say ter he mammy ter tell him he mockin’-buhd done come back, en he mammy she bundle him all up in de quilt en open de winder, en sho’ nuff, dah’s Mistah Mockin’-buhd behin’ de bushes, jes’ bus’in’ hisse’f. Well, suh, seems lak dat chile hang on ter living jes’ ter heah dat buhd, en ev’y evenin’, way till when de snow on de groun’, Mis’ Shirley she hide out in de trees en sing en sing till de po’ li’l feller gwine ter sleep.” Valiant leaned forward, for Uncle Jefferson had paused. “Did the child get well?” he asked eagerly. The old man clucked to the leisurely mule. “Yas, suh!” he said. “He done git well. He ’bout de on’riest young’un roun’ heah now! “Reck’n yo’-all come f’om New York?” inquired Uncle Jefferson, after a little silence. “So! Dey say dat’s er pow’ful big place. But Ah reck’n ol’ [Pg 78]Richmon’s big ernuf fo’ me.” He clucked to the leisurely mule and added, ”Ah bin ter Richmon’ onct. Yas, suh! Ah nevah see sech houses—mos’ all bigger’n de county co’ot-house.” John Valiant expressed a somewhat absent interest. He was looking thoughtfully at the blossom in his hand, in an absorption through which Uncle Jefferson’s reminiscences oozed on: