“Dere warn’t no moon, I reckin,” Sam said, busy with his plucking.
“Moon—what do you mean?”
“De moon am full now.” Sam’s grin disclosed two perfect rows of snow white teeth. “Dat’s de reason, Marse Bill.”
“Oh, quit your kidding, Sam!”
“I ain’t a-kiddin’ you, suh. Feel dis heah Major.”
Bill lifted the bird from the old darkey’s knees. It was plump and heavy.
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” he exclaimed. “That’s sure a surprise to me, Sam. But I still can’t see what the moon’s got to do with its being fat.”
Sam’s laugh awoke the forest echoes. Evidently he was enjoying the joke. He reached for the heron and went on denuding it of feathers.
“Reckin eddication ain’t everything,” he chuckled. “Dis nigger never had no schoolin’, but he know dat de Major only eats when de moon am full. Twelve times de year he am fat an’ twelve times de year he am lean.”
“Well, I’ve got to hand it to you, all right,” laughed Bill. “Now I’m going to shove off and give Osceola a hand. So long!”