ll gwine do now?']

John Jay scanned the horizon on all sides, and thoughtfully rubbed his
ear. His quick eyes saw unlimited possibilities for enjoyment, where
older sight would have found but a dreary outlook; but older sight is
always on a strain for the birds in the bush. It is never satisfied with
the one in the hand. Older sight would have seen only a poor shanty set
in a patch of weeds and briers, and a narrow path straggling down to
the dust of the public road. But the outlook was satisfactory to John
Jay. So was it to the neighbor's goat, standing motionless in the warm
sunshine, with its eyes cast in the direction of a newly-made garden. So
was it to the brood of little yellow goslings, waddling after their
mother. They were out of their shells, and the world was wide.

Added to this same feeling of general contentment with his lot, John Jay
had the peace that came from the certainty that, no matter what he might
do, punishment could not possibly overtake him before nightfall. His
grandmother was always late coming home on Tuesday.

"Wot we all gwine do now?" repeated Bud.

John Jay caught at the low branch of the apple-tree to which the
clothes-line was tied, and drew himself slowly up. He did not reply
until he had turned himself over the limb several times, and hung head
downward by the knees.

"Go snake huntin', I reckon."

"But Mammy said not to take Ivy in the briah-patch again," said Bud
solemnly.

"That's so," exclaimed John Jay, "an' shingle say so too," he added,
with a grin, for his legs still smarted. Loosening the grip of his
knees on the apple-bough, he turned a summersault backward and landed on
his feet as lightly as a cat.

"Ivy'll go to sleep aftah dinnah," suggested Bud. "She always do." It
seemed a long time to wait until then, but with the remembrance of his
last punishment still warm in mind and body, John Jay knew better than
to take his little sister to the forbidden briar-patch.

"Well, we can dig a lot of fishin' worms," he decided, "an' put 'em in
those tomato cans undah the ash-hoppah. Then we'll make us a mud oven
an' roast us some duck aigs. Nobody but me knows where the nest is."

Bud's eyes shone. The prospect was an inviting one.

Most of the morning passed quickly, but the last half-hour was spent in
impatiently waiting for their dinner. They knew it was spread out under
a newspaper on the rickety old table, but they had strict orders not to
touch it until Aunt Sus