rl, and see how the crows have gone to
fighting."

"You g' 'long with your crows, an' look at me right, an' tell me if yo'
modder said you might come."

"And Burl, after I skeered the painter away," remarked Bushie, "I saw
two buffalo bulls fighting right on the high river-bank, and the one
that got his tail up hill pushed the other clean----"

"You g' 'long with your bulls too, an' no mo' uf yo' dodgin', but look
me right in de face an' answer my question."

Now, Bushie had never told a lie--that is to say, a downright lie--in
all his life. It must be owned, however, that he would sometimes try to
dodge the truth, by throwing out some remark quite foreign to the
offense under consideration; an effective way of whipping the father of
fibs around the stump, as many people who ought to know can testify. Or,
failing to clear his skirts by this shift, he would go on picking at the
mud-daubing in the wall, near which he might chance to be standing, or
breaking off splinters from the fence on which he might chance to be
sitting, without saying a word either foreign or akin to the matter in
hand. But let him once be fairly cornered, convinced that dodging the
question was out of the question, then would he turn himself square
about, and looking you full in the face, out with the naked truth as
bluntly as if he had "chawed" it into a hard wad and shot it at you from
his pop-gun. So, in the present instance, throwing down the handful of
splinters he had broken from the rail, he turned his big blue eyes full
upon the face of his black inquisitor, and bluntly answered, "No, she
didn't."

"Did she say you mus'n't come?"

"Yes, she did."

"Den, why didn't you mind yo' modder?"

"Because."

"Ah, Bushie, my boy, beca'se won't do. Dare's painters an' wolves fur
bad little boys as runs away frum home an' hain't got nothin' to say fur
'emselves but beca'se. An' Injuns, too, wid cuttin' knives an' splittin'
tomahawks fur sich boys; yes, an' bars too. W'y, Bushie, don't you
'member how we reads in de Good Book 'bout de bad town-boys who come out
to de big road one day an' throwed dirt at de good ol' 'Lishy, de
bal'-headed preacher, an' made ugly mouths at him, an' jawed him, an'
sassed him, an' all de time kep' sayin', 'G' 'long, you ol' bal'-head;
g' 'long, you ol' bal'-head!' Den de good ol' 'Lishy looked back an'
cussed 'em, when two she-bars heerd him an' come out uf de woods wid
der cubs at der heels, an' walked in on der