“I wouldn’ kill him. Not dat nice rooster. You got to scuse a chicken sometimes.”
“I done already scused em. Dat’s how come e’s so spoilt. E’s ruint. If I let him live now e’d keep me worried all de time,” Uncle Bill contended.
“Fetch em to me an’ I’ll fry em nice fo’ you!” Big Sue offered so kindly that Uncle Bill declared, “Now, dat makes me feel a lot better.”
“Show us you’ hogs.” Big Sue smiled sweetly. “I wan’ to see if you got one as fine as my Jeems.”
“I got fine ones, but deys all out in de pasture.”
“You kin call dem in, enty?” she persisted, and Uncle Bill gave in with a happy laugh.
First he went by the open door and got a few ears of corn, then on to the edge of the short slope, down by the water, where he drew a deep breath that filled his great lungs. He gave a loud mellow call: “Melia! Oh, Melia!” Before the echoes had died away, to the right and the left was a hurried swishing of water, an eager grunting, the sucking sound of quick feet lifted out of mud.
“Dey’s a-comin’!” he laughed, then he called again, “Come on, Melia! Make haste, gal!”
His old face softened as they came in sight, crowds of them. The little pigs squealed with delight as they hurried to get to him. The older ones moved more slowly, for their bodies were heavy, but all the time they grunted encouragement to their children. Uncle Bill’s big hand let a few white grains of corn trickle through his fingers and fall near his feet. Their quick eyes saw, and running forward they snapped up the bits greedily, pushing one another, crowding, sniffing at Uncle Bill’s dusty brogan shoes, hunting for more.
Uncle Bill lifted the wide sagging gate and opened it wide. “Come on een!” he said, and the gluttonous crowd trooped inside. When every one had passed he threw them whole ears on the ground. As they scrunched the grains and smacked over them, he reached down and patted one on the head, scratched another’s back with a cob, said some kind thing to another. It was plain he loved them.