aced the distant field, was just the
place to give the Tempter a fair chance at him.

The sky--how sunny and blue it bent above him! The woods--how shady and
green they rose before him! The little log fort--how dull and lonesome
it lay behind him! The little log grist-mill down there on the banks of
the river at the foot of the hill--how tiresomely it went on creaking
and humming and droning, forever repeating, "What a pity! what a pity!
what a pity!" or, "Clip it, Bushie! clip it, Bushie! clip it, Bushie!"
according to the tune one's fancy might chance to be singing at the
moment. The Tempter was creeping upon him apace. The melodious strains
of that powerful voice--how cheerily, sweetly they come resounding
through the echoing woods, growing more and more distinct as the singer
neared the hither end of his furrow! The distance was too great for
Bushie to distinguish the words of the song; but to his longing ears,
the burden of it seemed to be something very much to this effect:

"Come, come, come, Bushie, come!
Burl a' plowin' in de fiel',
A singin' for his little man to come."

Here the Tempter crept up close to him and whispered in his ear: "Don't
you hear him Bushie? He's singing for you. Clip it! Panthers, bears,
wolves, Indians! Pshaw! They'll never dare to come a-nigh you, with that
voice ringing in their ears. Clip it! Ain't he singing for his little
man to come? Clip it! I say. To be sure your mother will switch you
well for running away, but who minds that? It's all over in the shake of
a sheep's tail, and by the time you've rubbed your back and legs a
little, eaten your supper, and said your prayers, you'll be feeling just
as comfortable as ever. Clip it, I say; clip it!"

Bushie could endure it no longer. So, after a short, one-sided debate
between the good of him and the evil of him--the evil allowing the good
but a half-say in the matter--our little white hero formed the bold
design of making a sudden sally from the fort and surprising our big
black hero in the open field. First, though, he must make sure that the
coast was clear--_i.e._, that his mother was too busy about her
household concerns to notice him and put her foot on his adventure. So,
going back to the house, he peeped in at the door and reconnoitered.
Finding the chances rather in his favor, he returned to the gate,
whistling as he went, and otherwise making a big pretense of being
perfectly satisfied with his present surroundin