il squir'l up in th' top
Of that air ellum tree,
A long-tail squir'l up in th' top,
A lis'nin' to the acorns drop,
Says, "Sh! sh-sh!" at me.

The big-eyed owl a-settin' on a limb
With nary a wink nur nod,
The big-eyed owl a-settin' on a limb,
Is a-singin' a sort of a solemn hymn
Of "Hoo! hoo-ah!" at God.

Albert could not resist a temptation to smile at this last line.

"I know, stranger. You think a owl can't sing to God. But I'd like to
know why! Ef a mockin'-bird kin sing God's praises a-singin' trible, and
so on through all the parts--you see I larnt the squar notes oncet at a
singin'--why, I don't see to save me why the bass of the owl a'n't jest
as good praisin' ef 'ta'n't quite sech fine singin'. Do you, now? An' I
kinder had a feller-feelin' fer the owl. I says to him,' Well, ole
feller, you and me is jist alike in one thing. Our notes a'n't
appreciated by the public.' But maybe God thinks about as much of the
real ginowine hootin' of a owl as he does of the highfalugeon whistlin'
of a mockin'-bird all stole from somebody else. An' ef my varses is
kinder humbly to hear, anyway they a'n't made like other folkses; they're
all of 'em outen my head--sech as it is."

"You certainly have struck an original vein," said Albert, who had a
passion for nature in the rough. "I wish you would read some of your
verses to my sister."

"Couldn' do it," said the poet; "at least, I don't believe I could. My
voice wouldn' hold up. Laid awake all las' night tryin' to make some
varses about her. But sakes, stranger, I couldn' git two lines strung
together. You mout as well try to put sunshine inter a gallon-jug, you
know, as to write about that lovely creetur. An' I can't make poetry in
nothin' 'ceppin' in our country talk; but laws! it seems sech a rough
thing to use to say anything about a heavenly angel in. Seemed like as ef
I was makin' a nosegay fer her, and hadn't no poseys but jimson-weeds,
hollyhocks, and big yaller sunflowers. I wished I could 'a' made real
dictionary poetry like Casabianca and Hail Columby. But I didn' know
enough about the words. I never got nary wink of sleep a-thinkin' about
her, and a-wishin' my house was finer and my clo'es purtier and my hair
shorter, and I was a eddicated gentleman. Never wished that air afore."

Katy woke up a little dull and quite hungry, but not sick, and she
good-naturedly set herself to work to show her gratitude to the
Inhabitant by helping, him to get breakf