The Boy was quick to know and love the birds of hedge and field and woods. The martins that built in his gourds on the tall pole had opened his eyes. The red and bluebirds, the thrush, the wren, the robin, the catbird, and song sparrows were his daily companions.

A mocking-bird came at last to build her nest in a bush beside the garden, and her mate began to make the sky ring with his song. The puzzle of the feathered tribe whose habits he couldn\'t fathom was the whip-poor-will. His mother seemed to dislike his ominous sound. But the soft mournful notes appealed to the Boy\'s fancy. Often at night he sat in the doorway of the cabin watching the gathering shadows and the flicker of the fire when supper was cooking, listening to the tireless song within a few feet of the house.

"Why don\'t you like \'em, Ma?" he asked, while one was singing with unusually deep and haunting voice so near the cabin that its echo seemed to come from the chimney jamb.

It was some time before she replied:

"They say it\'s a sign of death for them to come so close to the house."

The Boy laughed:

"You don\'t believe it?"

"I don\'t know."

"Well, I like \'em," he stoutly declared. "I like to feel the cold shivers when they sing right under my feet. You\'re not afraid of a little whip-poor-will?"

He looked up into her sombre face with a smile.

"No," was the gentle answer, "but I want to live to see my Boy a fine strong man," she paused, stooped, and drew him into her arms.

There was something in her tones that brought a lump into his throat. The moon was shining in the full white glory of the Southern spring. A night of marvellous beauty enfolded the little cabin. He looked into her eyes and they were shining with tears.

"What\'s the matter?" he asked tenderly.

"Nothing, Boy, I\'m just dreaming of you!"

The first day of the fall in his sixth year he asked his mother to let him go to the next corn-shucking.

"You\'re too little a boy."

"I can shuck corn," he stoutly argued.

"You\'ll be good, if I let you go?" she asked.

"What\'s to hurt me there?"

"Nothing, unless you let it. The men drink whiskey, the girls dance. Sometimes there\'s a quarrel or fight."

"It won\'t hurt me ef I \'tend to my own business, will it?"

"Nothing will ever hurt you, if you\'ll just do that, Boy," the father broke in.

"May I go?"

"Yes, we\'re invited next week to a quilting and corn-shucking. I\'ll go with you."

The Boy shouted for joy and counted the days until the wonderful event. They left home at two o\'clock in the wagon. The quilting began at three, the corn-shucking at sundown.

The house was a marvellous structure to the Boy\'s excited imagination. It was the first home he had ever seen not built of logs.

"Why, Ma," he cried in open-eyed wonder, "there ain\'t no logs in the house! How did they ever put it together?"

"With bricks and mortar."

The Boy couldn\'t keep his eyes off this building. It was a simple, one-story square structure of four rooms and an attic, with little dormer windows peeping from the four sides of the pointed roof. McDonald, the thrifty Scotch-Irishman, from the old world, had built it of bricks he had ground and burnt on his own place.

The dormer windows peeping from the roof caught the Boy\'s fancy.

"Do you reckon his boys sleep up there and peep out of them holes?"

The mother smiled.

"Maybe so."

"Why don\'t we build a house like that?" he asked at last. "Don\'t you want it?"

The mother squeezed his little hand:

"When you\'re a man will you build your mother one?"

He looked into her eyes a moment, caught the pensive longing and answered:

"Yes. I will."

She stooped and kissed the firm mouth and was about to lead him into the large work-room where the women were gathering around the quilts stretched on their frames, when a negro slave suddenly appeared to take her horse to the stable. He was fat, jolly and coal black. His yellow teeth gleamed in their blue gums with a jovial welcome.

The Boy stood rooted to the spot and watched until the negro disappeared. It was the first black man he had ever seen. He had heard of negroes and that they were slaves. But he had no idea that one human being could be so different from another.

In breathless awe he asked:

"Is he folks?"

"Of course, Boy," his mother answered, smiling.

"What made him so black?"

"The sun in Africa."

"What made his nose so flat and his lips so thick?"

"He was born that way."

"What made him come here?"

"He didn\'t. The slave traders put him in chains and brought him across the sea and sold him into slavery."

The little body suddenly stiffened:

"Why didn\'t he kill \'em?"

"He didn\'t know how to defend himself."

"Why don\'t he run away?"

"He hasn\'t sense enough, I reckon. He\'s got a home, plenty to eat and plenty to wear, and he\'s afraid he\'ll be caught and whipped."

The mother had to pull the Boy with her into the quilting room. His eyes followed the negro to the stable with a strange fascination. The thing that puzzled him beyond all comprehension was why a big strong man like that, if he were a man, would submit. Why didn\'t he fight and die? A curious feeling of contempt filled his mind. This black thing that looked like a man, walked like a man and talked like a man couldn\'t be one! No real man would grin and laugh and be a slave. The black fool seemed to be happy. He had not only grinned and laughed, but he went away whistling and singing.

In three hours the quilts were finished and the men had gathered for the corn-shucking.

Before eight o\'clock the last ear was shucked, and a long white pile of clean husked corn lay glistening in the moonlight where the dark pyramid had stood at sunset.

With a shout the men rose, stretched their legs and washed their hands in the troughs filled with water, provided for the occasion. They sat down to supper at four long tables placed in the kitchen and work room, where the quilts had been stretched.

Never had the Boy seen such a feast—barbecued shoat, turkeys, ducks, chickens, venison, bear meat, sweet potatoes, wild honey, corn dodgers, wheat biscuit, stickies and pound cake—pound cake until you couldn\'t eat another mouthful and still they brought more!

After the supper the young folks sang and danced before the big fires until ten o\'clock, and then the crowd began to thin, and by eleven the last man was gone and the harvest festival was over.

It was nearly twelve before the Boy knelt at his mother\'s knee to say his prayers.

When the last words were spoken he still knelt, his eyes gazing into the flickering fire.

The mother bent low:

"What are you thinking about, Boy? The house you\'re going to build for me?"

"No."

"What?"

"That nigger—wasn\'t he funny? You don\'t want me to get you any niggers with the house do you?"

"No."

"I didn\'t think you would," he went on thoughtfully, "because you said General Washington set his slaves free and wanted everybody else to do it too."

He paused and shook his head thoughtfully. "But he was funny—he was laughin\' and whistlin\' and singin\'!"