al fei GRAY LADY AND THE BIRDS 
noon his froat hit git dry and he’d go way down de orange 
grove an’ rest him jest a li’l bit, and den come out again 
an’ git nearer and nearer to de cabin, an’ when de sun 
hit role away to bed an’ de moon-up come, he’d git from 
de rose vine to de roof, an’ den up to de chimley edge 
an’ sing straight down at yer. Laws, honey, yer couldn’t 
never tell in daylight what birds was singin’, de real 
ones or him a mockin’ ob dem. De Red Bird with de 
topknot, de Blue Jay, de li’l Wren wif de sassy tail, 
de Hangnest (Oriole), or de Blue Sparrow might all 
be singin’, for all I know’d, or hit might be only he 
a-mockin’ of ’em better than dey knew how demselves. 
“But when hit come night, and eb’ry one was home 
at de quarters, an’ some was singin’, an’ some playin’ de 
banjo, an’ de smell from de orange groves risin’ up power- 
ful on de wind, and sun-down t’ree four hours gone, den 
_ when we heard all dem birds a-singin’, we knew it was de 
Mocker, an’ sometimes he wouldn’t stop all the night 
until de light hit slip right from silber to gold, an’ den 
copper, an’ ’twas sun-up again; an’ in dose days most 
eb’ry one had a Mocker in a cage. But here I be runnin’ 
on ’bout de times when de Lord he let folks an’ wild 
birds both be bought an’ sold. Tell me, honey, whar 
ye done git him? Shore he neber was flyin’ round about 
up yere in de cold an’ snow —him what lubs de sun-up 
*way down Lou’siana way.” 
“T didn’t put him in a cage, Aunt Tilda,” said Tommy, 
earnestly; “it is this way. He belonged to old Ned that 
works of summers for my Uncle Eph over at Bridgeton, 
and then goes home every year down South at Christmas, 
to spend the cold weather. This year he has hurt his leg, 
