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Updated: May 4, 2025
"I'm ready", said John. "But I didn't hear any sound. What was it like?" "O! kinder a scoldin' seound. Cawcawee! cawcawee! Don't yer hear the critter reelin' of it off? Ha! 'tis dyin' away, though. We shall hear it agin, by and by". "An old squaw", said John, as the excitement the prospect of a shot had raised in his mind subsided. "Do you have such game as that, in Miramichi?
There was one kind of a mournful ditty he sung, and once in a while he brung in a chorus, cawcawee! cawcawee, jest like what them ducks say, only, the way he made it seound, was soft and meller and doleful-like. I liked to hear him sing that, only he was so solemn arter it, and would set and fetch up great long sythes. And once I asked him what made him so sober and take on so, arter singin' it.
Cawcawee! cawcawee! kind of an aggravatin' holler! But I like it, ruther. It allers 'minds me of a bustin' good feller that was deown here from Canada once". "How remind you of him?" inquired John. "Well, he cam' deown on bissiniss, but he ran afowl o' me, and we was eout in the woods together, consid'able. He used to set eoutside the camp, bright, starlight nights, and sing songs, and sech.
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