"Well, Uncle Pius," inquired Mr. Howard, "can you tell from the smoke what has been burning over at Bowen's place?"
"Kindar b'l'eve I kin," replied the old negro. "I suspose it am de old fellar's corn-crib, for de wood am green. You knows it ain't been up long."
"Could you tell from the smoke how much corn was in the crib?" asked the farmer.
"Jest what I'se been a ca'kalatin' on. Dar ain't much corn in dat crib, 'caze corn, it don't make no smoke like dat."
"How do you know?"
"I knows dis way, boss. Once when I'se a dryin' apples in de big stove, an' was a thinkin' 'bout som'in' or uddar, I'se dumped a bushel ob corn in de fire in place of de corn cobs. It made the funnies' sort ob smoke you ebber seed. Dat ain't no corn smoke; dat's wood smoke ober dar at ole Bowen's house."
"Now, we'll see if you are right," said the farmer. "If old Bowen has lost his corn, he'll let every one know it before night."
"Dat he will! Dat he will, sure! Den you'll see I'se ca'kalated right."
Mr. Howard laughed, and went into the house to take his breakfast. He was still anxious about Owen, fearing that some accident had befallen him.
Behind him walked Uncle Pius, muttering to himself: "Dar ain't much corn; dar ain't no corn in dat dar crib. Dar ain't,—ain't,—ain't."