there is a school proverb that you must remember, about the bird that can sing and will not."
The man turned his tobacco in his jaws, and though evidently annoyed and disquieted, replied—
"Why, yes, stranger, I reckon I know what you mean, though I haint had much schooling; three months one year, and three another, and then three years without any, don't teach a body every kind of larning. But the saying you p'int to I remember well enough; Many's the time I've hearn it. 'The bird that wont sing must be made to sing.'"
"I see your memory may be relied upon for other matters," said Singleton; "and now, taking care not to forget the proverb, you will please answer me a few questions."
"Well, stranger, I'm willing enough. I'm all over good-natur, and never fail to git vexed with myself afterward, when the devil drives me to be oncivil to them that treats me well. Ax your questions straight off-hand, and Pete Larkin is the boy to answer, far as his larning goes."
"I am glad, Mr. Larkin, for your own sake, that you have this temper. You will please to say, now, where you are from."
"Well, now, stranger, I'm only come from a little above—and as you say, I've had a tough ride of it; but it's a good critter, this here nag of mine, and does one's heart good to go on him. So, you see, when I'm on him, I goes it. I hate mightily to creep, terrapin fashion, in a dogtrot; for you see, stranger, it's a bad gait, and sickens a short man, though the horse that travels stands it best of any."
Singleton had no disposition to interrupt the speaker, though he saw that he meant to be evasive. He watched his features attentively, while he spoke, and when he had done, proceeded in his inquiries.
"From above! but what part? I would know precisely, Mr. Larkin."
"Well, now, stranger, as I haint got no secrets, I 'spose I may as well tell you 'xactly how 'tis. I'm from cl'ar across the Santee: I live 'pon the Santee, or thereabouts."
"Indeed! and is it true, as we hear below, that the wolves have grown troublesome in that quarter?"
