They listened attentively for a repetition of the serenade, when a high-pitched but not loud "Wa—wa—wa—wa—wa—wa—wa—wa!" reached their ears from a grove of heavy timbers.
"Hear that?" exclaimed Sam.
Again it came, a quavering squall, apparently much nearer. It was a rather shrill sound, quite unbirdy, and Sam whispered:
[164] "Coon—that's the whicker of a Coon. We can come down here some time when corn's 'in roastin'' an' have a Coon hunt."
"Oh, Sam, wouldn't that be glorious!" said Yan. "How I wish it was now. I never saw a Coon hunt or any kind of a hunt. Do we have to wait till 'roasting-ear' time?"
"Oh, yes; it's easier to find them then. You say to your Coons, 'Me an' me dogs will meet you to-night at the nearest roastin'-ear patch,' an' sure nuff they'll keep the appointment."
"But they're around now, for we just heard one, and there's another."
A long faint "Lil—lil—lil—lil—lil—li-looo!" now sounded from the trees. It was like the other, but much softer and sweeter.
"There's where you fool yerself," replied Sam, "an' there's where many a hunter is fooled. That last one's the call of a Screech Owl. You see it's softer and whistlier than the Coon whicker."