er de fus' mountain, de
tarr'pin whar wuz hidin' dar crawl outen de bresh an' git ter de top
fus' an' gin a whoop, an' went over a li'l ways an' hid in de bresh
ag'in. Wolf think dat mighty cur'ous, but he keep on, an' 'twuz jesso at
ev'y one, an' at de las' ridge co'se Tarr'pin jes' walk hisse'f outen de
bresh an' gin a gre't whoop ter let ev'yb'dy know he done won de race.

"Den de tarr'pins mek up der min's ter kill de wolfs by fire, so dey pen
'em all in a big kyave on de mountain an' dey bring bresh an' wood an'
pile in front uv hit, a pile mos' ez high ez de mountain, an' den dey
set fire to hit, an' de wolfs howl an' de fire hit spit an' sputter an'
hiss an' crack an' roar, an' all de creeturs on de mountain set up a big
cry an' run dis-a-way an' dat ter git outen de fire; dey wuz plumb
'stracted, an' hit soun' lak all de wil' beas'es in creation wuz turnt
aloose an' tryin' w'ich kin yell de loudes'. But de tarr'pins jes' drord
inter der shells an' sot dar safe an' soun', an' watched de fire burn
an' de smoke an' de flame rollin' inter de kyave.

"De wolfs dey howled an' dey howled _an'_ dey howled, an' de li'l ones
dey cried an' dey cried _an'_ dey cried, an' las' de ol' ones felt so
bad 'bout de chillen dat dey 'gun ter kill 'em off so's't dey ain'
suffer no mo'. Wen de tarr'pins see dat, dey wuz saw'y, an' dey mek up
der min's ter let de res' off, so dey turnt 'em aloose f'um de kyave.
But lots uv 'em had died in dar, an' dat huccome dar ain' so many wolfs
now ez dey useter be. Some wuz nearer ter de fire dan tu'rrs an' got
swinged, an' some got smoked black, an' dat w'y, ontwel dis day, some
wolfs is black an' some gray an' some white, an' some has longer,
bushier tails dan tu'rrs. Dey got so hoarse wid all dat cryin' dat der
voices bin nuttin' but a howl uver sence.

"Quail he year w'at gwine on, an' he tucken hisse'f outen dat kyountry
fas' ez his laigs cu'd kyar' him, so Tarr'pin nuver got back de fedders
ner de whustle, an' ef you goes out inter de fiel' mos' any day you kin
see Quail gwine roun' in de stolen fedders an' year him whustle:

_'Bob White, do right! do right!
Do right! do right, Bob White!'_

jes' ez sassy ez ef _he_ bin doin' right all his days, an' ez ef he bin
raised wid dat voice stidder stealin' hit way f'um ol' man Tarr'pin."

BY BAY AND SEA

BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS

The little rills of poesie
That flow from Helicon
Sometimes escape into the sea