ever, till finally, all order and decorum lost,
the big talk broke up in a big row, the radicals turning tails upon each
other and flying away to the north and the south; the conservatives,
understanding each other no better, flying away to the east and the
west.

Each time, as he neared the end of his furrow, Burl cutting short his
singing the moment he spied his little master, would send forward at the
top of his stentorian lungs his wonted greeting, "I yi, you dogs!" This
was a favorite expression with him, and variously to be understood
according to circumstances. Treading the peace-path barefooted and
shirt-sleeved, he was wont to use it as a form of friendly greeting, in
the sense of "hail fellow well met," or "Good-morning, my friend," or as
a note of brotherly cheer, equivalent to "Hurrah, boys!" or "Bully for
you!" But treading the war-path, moccasin-shod and double-shirted, with
rifle on shoulder and hatchet in belt, he used the expression in an
altogether different sense. Then it became his battle-cry, his note of
defiance, his war-whoop, his trumpet-call to victory and scalps. Taken
by the Indians, who never heard it but to their cost, it was understood
as the English for "Die, die, red dogs!"

While making his turns between rounds, Burl, glancing complacently up at
his little master, would make some remark about the squirrels and the
birds who seemed to be in a "monstrous" fine humor that morning, or
about the crows who seemed to be in a "monstrous" bad humor: "De corn
now gittin' too tall an' strong for 'em to pull up--de black rogues!"
Once or twice it was a sympathetic inquiry about "our little legs," with
a comment upon the efficacy of spit for drawing out "de smartin' an'
stingin' of brier-scratches." Oftener, however, than any thing else, it
was the assurance that by the time the plowing should reach a certain
shell-bark hickory that stood near the middle of the field the
dinner-horn would be blowing, when the little man should go home
"a-ridin' ol' Cornwallis;" the little man always answering this with a
grin of glad anticipation. The turn by this time fairly made, the
plowing and singing would recommence:

"Come, come! come, corn, come!
Burl a-plowin' in de fiel',
A-singin' fur de roasin'-ear to come.

"Come, come! come, corn, come!
Burl a-plowin' in de fiel',
A-singin' fur de johnny-cake to come.

"Come, come! come, punkin, come!
Burl a-plowin' in de fiel',
A-sin