estate an' have him, of his own free will
an' accord, be a liar! Young man, truth is the cornerstone o' the
temple o' character. Nobody can put up a good buildin' without a solid
foundation; an' you can't do solid character buildin' with a lie at the
base. Man 'at's a liar ain't fit for anything! Can't trust him in no
sphere or relation o' life; or in any way, shape, or manner. You
passed out your word like a man, an' like a man I took it an' went off
trustin' you, an' you failed me. Like as not that squirrel story was a
lie, too! Have you got a sick friend who is needin' squirrel broth?"

The hunter shook his head.

"No? That wasn't true either? I'll own you make me curious. 'Ud you
mind tellin' me what was your idy in cookin' up that squirrel story?"

The hunter spoke with an effort. "I suppose I wanted to do something
to make you feel small," he admitted, in a husky voice.

"You wanted to make me feel small," repeated Abram, wonderingly.
"Lord! Lord! Young man, did you ever hear o' a boomerang? It's a
kind o' weapon used in Borneo, er Australy, er some o' them furrin
parts, an' it's so made 'at the heathens can pitch it, an' it cuts a
circle an' comes back to the fellow, at throwed. I can't see myself,
an' I don't know how small I'm lookin'; but I'd rather lose ten year o'
my life 'an to have anybody catch me lookin' as little as you do right
now. I guess we look about the way we feel in this world. I'm feelin'
near the size o' Goliath at present; but your size is such 'at it
hustles me to see any MAN in you at all. An' you wanted to make me
feel small! My, oh, my! An' you so young yet, too!

"An' if it hadn't a-compassed a matter o' breakin' your word, what 'ud
you want to kill the redbird for, anyhow? Who give you rights to go
'round takin' such beauty an' joy out of the world? Who do you think
made this world an' the things 'at's in it? Maybe it's your notion 'at
somebody about your size whittled it from a block o' wood, scattered a
little sand for earth, stuck a few seeds for trees, an' started the
oceans with a waterin' pot! I don't know what paved streets an' stall
feedin' do for a man, but any one 'at's lived sixty year on the ground
knows 'at this whole old earth is jest teemin' with work 'at's too big
for anything but a God, an' a mighty BIG God at that!

"You don't never need bother none 'bout the diskivries o' science, for
if science could prove 'at the earth was a red hot slag