but I could sho'
git a whole chicken ter roas' easier'n I could git dat pan full o'
goodies _you's_ a-talkin' 'bout.

"Is you gwine crawfishin' to-day, gran'daddy?" he continued, cautiously,
rolling his eyes. "'Caze when I cross de road, terreckly, I gwine shoo
off some o' dem big fat hens dat scratches up so much dus'. Dey des a
puffec' nuisance, scratchin' dus' clean inter my eyes ev'y time I go
down de road."

"Dey is, is dey? De nasty, impident things! You better not shoo none of
'em over heah, less'n you want me ter wring dey necks--which I boun' ter
do ef dey pester my crawfish-lines."

"Well, I'm gwine now, gran'dad. Ev'ything is done did an' set whar you
kin reach--I gwine down de road an' shoo dem sassy chickens away. Dis
here bucket o' brick-dus' sho' is heavy," he added, as he lifted to his
head a huge pail.

Starting out, he gathered up a few grains of corn, dropping them along
in his wake until he reached the open where the chickens were; when,
making a circuit round them, he drove them slowly until he saw them
begin to pick up the corn. Then he turned, whistling as he went, into a
side street, and proceeded on his way.

Old Mose chuckled audibly as Duke passed out, and, baiting his lines
with corn and scraps of meat, he lifted the bit of broken plank from the
floor, and set about his day's sport.

"Now, Mr. Chicken, I'm settin' deze heah lines fur crawfish, an' ef you
smarties come a-foolin' round 'em, I gwine punish you 'cordin' ter de
law. You heah me!" He chuckled as he thus presented his defence anew
before the bar of his own conscience.

But the chickens did not bite to-day--not a mother's son or daughter of
them--though they ventured cautiously to the very edge of the cabin.

It was a discouraging business, and the day seemed very long. It was
nearly nightfall when Mose recognized Duke's familiar whistle from the
levee. And when he heard the little bare feet pattering on the single
plank that led from the brow of the bank to the cabin-door, he coughed
and chuckled as if to disguise a certain eager agitation that always
seized him when the little boy came home at night.

"Here me," Duke called, still outside the door; adding as he entered,
while he set his pail beside the old man, "How you is to-night,
gran'dad?"

"Des po'ly, thank Gord. How you yo'se'f, my man?" There was a note of
affection in the old man's voice as he addressed the little pickaninny,
who seemed in the twilight a mere m