"I must confess that I should," said Glen.
"That's because you don't know him," responded Winn. "Isn't it, Solon?"
"I 'spec's hit must be, Marse Winn," answered the old negro.
"And wasn't he the very wisest dog you ever knew?"
"Yes, sah, he suttinly was, all 'ceptin' one, an' hit war a yallar 'coon dawg wha' I uster own down in ole Lou'siana. I 'spec's he war jes a teenty mite more knowin' dan eben Marse Brack's Bim dawg. He name war Bijah."
"How did he ever prove his wisdom?" asked Winn, incredulously.
"How him provin' it!" exclaimed the old negro, warming to his subject. "Why, sah, him provin' it ebbery day ob he life more ways 'n one."
"Well, give us an example, if you can remember one."
"Yes, sah, I kin. An' I tell you-all one ob de berry simples' t'ings what dat ar Bijah ebber done. He war jest a ornery, stumpy-tail, 'coon dawg, Bijah war, an' him know he warn't nuffin else. Dat's why he won't go fer nuffin 'ceptin' 'coons—no rabbits, ner 'possum, ner fox, ner b'ar, ner nuffin—jes 'coons. But 'coons! Don' talk, gen'l'men! I reckin dat ar Bijah done know ebbery 'coon in twenty mile ob de Moss Back plantashun. An' he knowed some fer 'coons wha' didn' 'low dey war 'coons no way."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Winn.