own the
green-bordered road, the bulldog prospecting alongside. A meadow-lark
soared somewhere in the overarching blue, dropping golden notes; dusty
bumble-bees boomed hither and thither; genial crickets tuned their
fiddles in the "tickle-grass" and a hawking dragon-fly paused for an
impudent siesta between the mule's gyrating ears.

"S'pose'n de Co'ot done ben sold en yo' gwineter fix it up fo' de new
ownah," hazarded Uncle Jefferson presently.

Valiant did not answer directly. "You say the place hasn't been occupied
for many years," he observed. "Did you ever hear why, Uncle Jefferson?"

"Ah done _heerd_," said the other vaguely, "but Ah disremembahs. Sumpin
dat happened befo' Ah come heah f'om ol' Post-Oak Plantation. Reck'n
Majah Bristow _he_ know erbout it, er Mis' Judith--dat's Miss Shirley's
mothah. Her fathah wus Gen'l Tawm Dandridge, en he died fo' she wus
bawn."

Shirley Dandridge! A high-sounding name, with something of long-linked
culture, of arrogant heritage. In some subtle way it seemed to clothe
the personality of which Valiant had had that fleeting roadside glimpse.

Uncle Jefferson stared meditatively skyward whence dropped the bubbling
lark song. "Dat-ar buhd kin _sing_!" he said. "Queeh dat folkses cyan'
do dat, dey so moughty much smahtah. Nevah knowed nobody _could_, dough,
cep'n on'y Miss Shirley. Tain' er buhd nowhah in de fiel's dat she cyan'
mock."

"You mean she knows their calls?"

"Yas, suh, ev'y soun'. Done fool me heap er times. Dah's de cook's li'l
boy et Rosewood dat wuz sick las' summah, en he listen ev'y day ter de
mockin'-buhd dat nes' in one ob de tulip-trees. He jes' love dat buhd
next ter he mammy, en when et come fall en et don' come no mo', he ha'at
mos' broke. He jes' lay en cry en git right smaht wussur. Et las' seems
lak de li'l boy gwine die. When Mis' Shirley heah dat, she try en try
till she jes' git dat buhd's song ez pat ez de Lawd's Prayah, en one
evenin' she gwine en say ter he mammy ter tell him he mockin'-buhd done
come back, en he mammy she bundle him all up in de quilt en open de
winder, en sho' nuff, dah's Mistah Mockin'-buhd behin' de bushes, jes'
bus'in' hisse'f. Well, suh, seems lak dat chile hang on ter living jes'
ter heah dat buhd, en ev'y evenin', way till when de snow on de groun',
Mis' Shirley she hide out in de trees en sing en sing till de po' li'l
feller gwine ter sleep."

Valiant leaned forward, for Uncle Jefferson had paused. "Did the child