“How did you learn all that?” sneered Jud.
“Oh, by keepin' out of a cotton mill an' usin' my eye,” said Archie B., winking at Bonaparte.
Bonaparte glared back.
“I'd like to git you into the mill,” said Jud. “I'd put you to wuck doin' somethin' that 'ud be worth while.”
“Oh, yes, you would for a few years,” sneered back Archie B. “Then you'd put me under the groun', where I'd have plenty o' time to res'.”
“I'm goin' up there now to see yo' folks an' see if I can't git you into the mill.”
“Oh, you are?—Well, don't be in sech a hurry an' look heah at yo' snake-skin fust—didn't I tell you it 'ud be lined with a snake-skin?” And he threw down a last year's snake-skin which Bonaparte proceeded to rend with great fury.
“Now, come under here,” went on Archie B. persuasively, “and I'll sho' you they're not pearly white, like a wood-pecker's, but cream-colored with little purple splotches scratched over 'em—like a fly-ketcher's.”
Jud rode under and looked up. As he did so Archie B. suddenly turned the nest upside down, that Jud might see the eggs, and as he looked up four eggs shot out before he could duck his head, and caught him squarely between his shaggy eyes. Blinded, smeared with yelk and smarting with his eyes full of fine broken shell, he scrambled from his horse, with many oaths, and began feeling for the little branch of water which ran nearby.
“I'll cut that tree down, but I'll git you and wring yo' neck,” he shouted, while Bonaparte endeavored to tear it down with his teeth.