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"I hunted till I was tired and couldn't find a thing worth bringing home, except some winter parsnips that I dug out of Mr. Man's garden." "I'm in," Mr. Crow called back. "I found a beefsteak that Mr. Man had hung out to freeze. I'll cook it with Mr. 'Coon's parsnips. Why, is anything the matter?" Mr.
His coat and pants were heavily fringed, in which the quills of the porcupine bore a conspicuous part. A cap of fox-skin surmounted his head, with four coon's tails sticking out around the edges of the cap. On his feet were moccasins. His never-failing rifle was strapped to his back, as also a powder-horn and bullet-pouch, which latter contained bullets, lead and moulds.
Rather, He sent me where I couldn't help stumblin' upon it, and reckonizin' it. The responsibility to Him is clear. I've got heathen enough to last me for a 'coon's age, to lift that poor, ignorant soul up, and bring it to a knowledge of Christian ways. He's not nice nor purty; never heard of a pagan that wuz. Wouldn't be pagans if they wuz.
"'Coon's come down," said the latter. Orde found the mill man pacing restlessly up and down before a steaming pair of horses. Newmark, perched on a stump, was surveying him sardonically and chewing the end of an unlighted cigar. "Here you poth are!" burst out Heinzman, when Orde stepped ashore. "Now, this must stop. I must not lose my logs! Vat is your probosition?"
"We kin jest slip around out here somewhere, and if there is any rebels, find 'em, and git more information than the whole regiment kin." "I'm not so thirsty for information and rebels as I am for some fresh buttermilk," said Shorty. "Somehow, I've been hankering for buttermilk and cornpone for days. I hain't had any for a coon's age, and it'd go mighty good as a change from camp rations.
Crow, who was so anxious to get to Mr. Coon's he could hardly keep from flying. Mr. Coon had just returned when they arrived and was unlocking his door. "I lost all my new tin spoons last night," said Mr. Possum. "Mr. Crow said he saw you cleaning some, and if they were like mine he would like to take a look at them and then he might find mine; but I did not know you had any spoons." Mr.
"Well, this Bill Sykes had a long, hungry yaller dog, forever getting into the neighbors' meat smokehouses, and chicken-coops, and the like. They had tried to kill it a hundred-odd times, but the dog was always too smart for them. Finally, one of them got a coon's innards, and filled it up with gunpowder, and tied a piece of punk in the nozle.
But he didn't mind their remarks in the least until he caught Fatty Coon's name. It was old Mr. Crow who mentioned it first. "I'll have to tell Fatty Coon about this queer house," he chuckled. "It's too good a joke to keep. He'll be over here as soon as he knows where to come, for he'll be glad to see it; and he wants to talk to Dickie Deer Mouse about taking our corn."
It don't look like these d n dead places we've been prowlin' through for more'n a coon's age. It looks as if God remembered it, an' it was alive! Why, th' very smell that came up had somethin' good about it; an' there was a different taste to th' air.
They are inseparable, play back together at "footer," and are variously called Gemini, Damon and Pythias, David and Jonathan, as the case may be. Biffen's are still cock-house at "footer;" Acton is going in again for the "heavy" this time without the Coon's help and those "niggers," Singh Ram and Runjit Mehtah, to Worcester's intense disgust, are the representatives of St.
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