“Course he’ll go,” declared Mrs. Declute, “and you, too, Jim Peeler, ’cause I’ve got to get on with them pies. Tell Libby the bee’s next Thursday, and I’ll want her to help with the table. Much ’bliged for your kindness, Jim. Good-night, Glossie.”
CHAPTER IX
And the Twilight
“Guess I’ll step through the oak ridge here and look in on Bill Paisley for a minute or so,” said Jim Peeler, as the three found the path leading to the creek.
“He’s singin’ his old pet song,” smiled Gloss. “Hark, can’t you hear him?”
Upon the tree-fringe of Rond Eau a red disk of a sun was dripping gold and amethyst glory and all the wild-wood was full of life and harmony. From the thickets the hardiest of the song-birds were bidding good-by to the wood. It was their last night in the old nesting-place.
Mingled with the symphony came Paisley’s voice, trilling happily:
“Massar’s gone away, de darkey say, ‘Ho, ho!’
Mus’ be now dat de kingdom’s comin’
I’ de year ob jubiloo.”
“He’s a happy beggar,” chuckled Declute. “He’s a happy beggar, is Bill, and the biggest-hearted, softest-hearted baby of a man as ever lived.”