come a-shinneyin' up to nine out o' ten men 'long the river like
this, an' your purty, coaxin', palaverin' way won't save a feather on
you. You'll get the little red heart shot plumb outen your little red
body, an' that's what you'll get. It's a dratted shame! An' there's
law to protect you, too. They's a good big fine for killin' such as
you, but nobody seems to push it. Every fool wants to test his aim,
an' you're the brightest thing on the river bank for a mark.

"Well, if you'll stay right where you are, it 'ull be a sorry day for
any cuss 'at teches you; 'at I'll promise you, Mr. Redbird. This
land's mine, an' if you locate on it, you're mine till time to go back
to that other old fellow 'at looks like me. Wonder if he's any
willinger to feed you an' stand up for you 'an I am?"

"Here! Here! Here!" whistled the Cardinal.

"Well, I'm mighty glad if you're sayin' you'll stay! Guess it will be
all right if you don't meet some o' them Limberlost hens an' tole off
to the swamp. Lord! the Limberlost ain't to be compared with the
river, Mr. Redbird. You're foolish if you go! Talkin' 'bout goin', I
must be goin' myself, or Maria will be comin' down the line fence with
the lantern; an', come to think of it, I'm a little moist, not to say
downright damp. But then you WARNED me, didn't you, old fellow? Well,
I told Maria seein' you 'ud be like meetin' folks, an' it has been.
Good deal more'n I counted on, an' I've talked more'n I have in a whole
year. Hardly think now 'at I've the reputation o' being a mighty quiet
fellow, would you?"

Abram straightened and touched his hat brim in a trim half military
salute. "Well, good-bye, Mr. Redbird. Never had more pleasure meetin'
anybody in my life 'cept first time I met Maria. You think about the
plowin', an', if you say `stay,' it's a go! Good-bye; an' do be a
little more careful o' yourself. See you in the mornin', right after
breakfast, no count taken o' the weather."

"Wet year! Wet year!" called the Cardinal after his retreating figure.

Abram turned and gravely saluted the second time. The Cardinal went to
the top rail and feasted on the sweet grains of corn until his craw was
full, and then nestled in the sumac and went to sleep. Early next
morning he was abroad and in fine toilet, and with a full voice from
the top of the sumac greeted the day--"Wet year! Wet year!"

Far down the river echoed his voice until it so closely resembled some
member of h