ds were spoken he still knelt, his eyes gazing into the
flickering fire.

The mother bent low:

"What are you thinking about, Boy? The house you're going to build for
me?"

"No."

"What?"

"That nigger--wasn't he funny? You don't want me to get you any niggers
with the house do you?"

"No."

"I didn't think you would," he went on thoughtfully, "because you said
General Washington set his slaves free and wanted everybody else to do
it too."

He paused and shook his head thoughtfully. "But he was funny--he was
laughin' and whistlin' and singin'!"

V

The air of the Southern autumn was like wine. The Boy's heart beat with
new life. The scarlet and purple glory of the woods fired his
imagination. He found himself whistling and singing at his tasks. He
proudly showed a bee tree to his mother, the honey was gathered and
safely stored. A barrel of walnuts, a barrel of hickory-nuts and two
bushels of chestnuts were piled near his bed in the loft.

But the day his martins left, he came near breaking down. He saw them
circle high in graceful sweeping curves over the gourds, chattering and
laughing with a strange new note in their cries.

He watched them wistfully. His mother found him looking with shining
eyes far up into the still autumn sky. His voice was weak and unsteady
when he spoke:

"I--can--hardly--hear--'em--now; they're so high!"

A slender hand touched his tangled hair:

"Don't worry, Boy, they'll come again."

"You're sure, Ma?" he asked, pathetically.

"Sure."

"Will they know when it's time?"

"Some one always tells them."

"Who?"

"God. That's what the Bible means when it says, 'the stork knoweth her
appointed time.' I read that to you the other night, don't you
remember?"

"But maybe God'll be so busy he'll forget my birds?"

"He never forgets, he counts the beat of a sparrow's wing."

The mother's faith was contagious. The drooping spirit caught the flash
of light from her eyes and smiled.

"We'll watch for 'em next spring, won't we? And I'll put up new gourds
long before they come!"

Comforted at last, he went to the woods to gather chinquapins. The
squirrels were scampering in all directions and he asked his father that
night to let him go hunting with him next day.

"All right, Boy!" was the hearty answer. "We'll have some fun this
winter."

He paused as he saw the mother's lips suddenly close and a shadow pass
over her dark, sensitive face.

"Hit's no use ter wor