219 



I don' lek ter be so fooled." Music slinks 

 off, his tail betwixt his legs. Damsel looks 

 about critically, as though to say, " I knew 

 all the time it was not quite the thing. De- 

 pend on it, alone I should not have made 

 the mistake." The poor cat is tossed into 

 the sink-hole's dark depth. Daddy picks 

 up his torch, carefully puts out each spark 

 it has left in the tangle, and goes away to 

 the woodland, a faint, smoky pennon trail- 

 ing out behind. 



He strikes straight for the river channel. 

 Just here a creek makes into it the tall 

 timber abounds in hollow trees, wherein 

 Master Coon makes his abode. A rare 

 night-rover he lying sluggish all the day, 

 nor rousing him till darkness has covered 

 the face of earth. Now the cocks crow 

 midnight ; straight moonbeams pour white 

 through the flecked boughs above, and turn 

 all to silvern ghosts the woods' dim colon- 

 nades. Doubtless he is well abroad hark ! 

 Music has found is running as for life. 

 " Who-oop ! hi-yi-yi-ya ! hunt him up, ole 

 dog ! hunt him up !" Daddy yells at the note 

 and is chorussed by the rest. The sound 

 fills all the river-valley, lying so still, lapped 

 in this slumberous calm. Far down it, on 

 the other side, an answering shout breaks 



