a dot, an' his size to a hair! Now what you got to say
'bout breedin'!"

"'Pears to me," the old fellow soliloquized, still squinting upward,
"'twon't be long 'foh lunch time. Didn' I heah somefin 'bout gwine down
whar de Willer-de-Wispies lives at?"

"Oh, yes," Bip cried, his anger passing like a bird shadow. "But, Uncle
Zack, you've got to ride a horse! I can't have Daniel learnin' laziness
from that old mule!"

"Laziness!" the old man exclaimed. Then, all at once, he seemed to be
watching something in the trees. "I 'member onct," he began in a
ruminating fashion, "when a li'l boy come up to me an' sez: 'Unc Zack,'
he sez, 'which is de oldes', ladies or gemmen?'"

He watched the boy with a downward glance from the corner of his eye,
but the little fellow maintained a dignified composure. How often did he
wish Uncle Zack would forget those questions which now seemed to him a
hundred times more infantile by the old man's interpretation! How many
times had Uncle Zack prevailed in having his own way by merely referring
to them! Now he continued:

"An' onct, when I wuz settin' in mah doh, dis same li'l man come pokin'
'long an' sez, sez he: 'Unc Zack, how-cum you kin see yoh knuckles when
yoh fist is shet up tight, an' cyarn' see 'em when yoh han's out
straight?'"

"That's one thing you never did tell me," the boy accusingly cried. "You
couldn't!"

"I couldn'?" he asked in pained surprise. "Does you mean I couldn'? Why,
ain' you 'shamed of yohse'f talkin' dat a-way to ole Zack! I could
a-tol' you, spry's yoh please, but it warn't good fer li'l boys jes'
den."

"Then tell me now!" Bip challenged.

"How ole is you, honey?" came the irrelevant question.

"I'll be seven next time," he answered.

"Seven nex' time!" The wrinkled face became more wrinkled as he looked
out over the fields and began to shake with laughter. "Seven nex' time!
What you know 'bout dat!"

"What's funny, Uncle Zack?"

"Jes' dat, dat's all. Come 'long, now, an' we'll git de mule ready!"

"Ain't you going to tell me 'bout my knuckles?" the little boy asked, as
they moved to the horse-block where, in deep humility, an old saddle
rested.

"Shucks! Dat ain' no fun!" Zack contemptuously asserted. "Knuckles is
cu'ious things, knuckles is; an' dar ain' no sense gittin' all riled up
'bout 'em, no way. Didn' I never tell you 'bout de bantam hen dat got
her knuckles scyared up wid de water snake?"

"No, you didn't! But tell me first 'bout min