so mortal proud.

"Stake my life he's never been fired on afore! He's pretty near wild
with narvousness, but he's got too much spunk to leave his fam'ly, an'
go off an' hide from creatures like you. They's no caution in him.
Look at him tearin' 'round to give you another chance!

"I felt most too rheumaticky to tackle field work this spring until he
come 'long, an' the fire o' his coat an' song got me warmed up as I
ain't been in years. Work's gone like it was greased, an' my soul's
been singin' for joy o' life an' happiness ev'ry minute o' the time
since he come. Been carryin' him grub to that top rail once an' twice
a day for the last month, an' I can go in three feet o' him. My wife
comes to see him, an' brings him stuff; an' we about worship him. Who
are you, to come 'long an' wipe out his joy in life, an' our joy in
him, for jest nothin'? You'd a left him to rot on the ground, if you'd
a hit him; an' me an' Maria's loved him so!

"D'you ever stop to think how full this world is o' things to love, if
your heart's jest big enough to let 'em in? We love to live for the
beauty o' the things surroundin' us, an' the joy we take in bein' among
'em. An' it's my belief 'at the way to make folks love us, is for us
to be able to 'preciate what they can do. If a man's puttin' his heart
an' soul, an' blood, an' beef-steak, an' bones into paintin' picters,
you can talk farmin' to him all day, an' he's dumb; but jest show him
'at you see what he's a-drivin' at in his work, an' he'll love you like
a brother. Whatever anybody succeeds in, it's success 'cos they so
love it 'at they put the best o' theirselves into it; an' so, lovin'
what they do, is lovin' them.

"It 'ud 'bout kill a painter-man to put the best o' himself into his
picture, an' then have some fellow like you come 'long an' pour
turpentine on it jest to see the paint run; an' I think it must pretty
well use God up, to figure out how to make an' colour a thing like that
bird, an' then have you walk up an' shoot the little red heart out of
it, jest to prove 'at you can! He's the very life o' this river bank.
I'd as soon see you dig up the underbrush, an' dry up the river, an'
spoil the picture they make against the sky, as to hev' you drop the
redbird. He's the red life o' the whole thing! God must a-made him
when his heart was pulsin' hot with love an' the lust o' creatin'
in-com-PAR-able things; an' He jest saw how pretty it 'ud be to dip his
featheri