Part 13 (1/2)

”Did Jack Frost bite little Willow Tree?”

”He don't bite 'em less'n dey gits hard-haid'd an' sa.s.sy him. But hyah come lit'le Aspin, an' lit'le Sugar Maple, an' dey says Lit'le 'Simmon Tree an' de res' uv de tree chillun is reddy ter come, soon es ole Unk'

Sun warm up de room fur 'em er lit'le. Bimeby, all uv 'em gits der haids an' hands out, 'cep'n Pine Tree chile. Ev'ybody axin' Miss Vilet, an' Miss Honey-suckle an' all uv 'em wharbouts Pine Tree chile wus at. Pres'ntly ole Tall Pine say, he do: 'Jes' 'ten' ter yer own biznes', my boy know whut he doin'. He ain' gwine come up hyah rippin' an' tar'in' 'roun', an'

den hatt'r stan' dar an' die in his tracks. Whin enny er my fambly comes up in de woods, dey comes ter stay,' sez he: 'De res' er you all goes off in de winter time, but me an' my fokes stays right hyah; darfo', I done lernt my chillun ter git er good start 'fo' dey comes thu!'

”I tell yer, Pine Tree chile wus workin' hard ter tap wat'r so he kin keep up wid de res' er de trees atter he jines de woods.”

”How can he tap water?” interrupted Willis.

”Dey taps. .h.i.t wid der roots. Sometimes er pine tree whut ain't no big'r'n my han' is got roots fifteen foots long. An' I tell yer Pine Tree tellin'

de trufe, his boy know der fambly bleege ter have wat'r ter live on, an'

he ain't gwine take no stan' in dis woel he know he can't keep up wid. De trees dey talks 'bout him mouty bad at fus', but he don't pay no 'tenshun ter 'em, he jes' mine his own biznes', an' bimeby he git big 'nuf ter look on de top uv all 'em.”

”Did he look down on the top of Mist'r Wise Oak?” broke in Willis.

”Tall Pine so high an' straight hisse'f, he ain't thinkin' 'bout de top er n.o.body's haid. He know Mist'r Wise Oak's de big'es' man on Tinker k.n.o.b an'

he proud ter keep comp'ny wid him.”

”Who was running against Wise Oak?” the race for mayor still lingering in his mind.

”Well, son, dar wus er heap uv 'em dat want ter git in, but dey can't git n.o.body ter put 'em up. Lombody Poplar ax Holl'r Tree ter put him up, but Holl'r Tree tell him ter look at hisse'f, an' see how fokes 'ud t'ar him ter pieces. He say he dunno howc.u.m.

”Holl'r Tree say, 'Whut's you done ter make fokes vote fur you? You doan give no fruit, an' you too stingy ter eb'n stretch yer arms out an' make shade fur ennybody.'

”Lombody say, 'Yer doan want me ter spile m' shape does yer?'

”Holl'r Tree say, 'Dat's. .h.i.t. You thinks too much 'bout yer own se'f ter serve de woods.' But I ain' got time ter tell yer all whut de trees talks erbout. I jes' wanter tell yer 'bout whut Mist'r bad 'Simmon Tree got.

”Whin he wus er lit'le boy tree, he all de time bein' hard-haided an'

makin' fusses twixt de trees er de beastes er enybody dat 'ud lis'n ter him. His ma whoop him er heap 'bout tellin' tales, an' meddlin' in fokes'

'fars, but ev'y time Bob Win' come thu de woods 'Simmon Tree'd lean way down ter de groun' totin' tales ter sumbody. One time Mist'r Brindle Cow come walkin' long thu de woods, huntin' fur some nice lit'le chaws er wile flow'rs, an' 'Simmon Tree hol'r fur him ter come set down an' talk ter him. Mister Brindle say he ain' got no time ter fool wid chillun. Wid dat 'Simmon Tree holl'r back: 'Yer bet'r take time, 'caze ev'y body know you done bin runn'd out'n de pastur'.' Whoopee! Mist'r Brindle Cow give er jump an' lan' hisse'f 'pon top er dat sa.s.sy little tree, an' I tell yer he nuv'r lef' dar tell he had tromp 'Simmon Tree clean down ter de groun'.

Den he curl his tail in de air an' go bellerin' back ter de pastur'.

”'Simmon Tree sorter raise up one fing'r, den he lif' his haid up er lit'le bit, but he hurt so bad near 'bout his foots dat he cry an' beg sumbody ter please hope him up.

”Jes' den Mist'r Man an' his lit'le boy come ridin' thu dar on Miss Race Hoss. Mist'r Man stop, he do, an' say, 'Look at dat nice lit'le 'Simmon Tree sumbody done tromp'd down. I'm gwine tie hit up an' give hit er chanct,' sez he. So him an' de lit'le boy liftes. .h.i.t up, an' 'Simmon Tree holl'r, 'Oh! Lawdy! yer's killin' me,' but dey ties him up an' put sticks up 'ginst him ter keep him fum fallin' down, an' 'tain' long 'fo' de hu't part wus kur'd tergeth'r fine, an', by de time he wus grow'd up, n.o.body cud tell he ev'r wus er bad lit'le boy dat mos' got kilt by his badness.

Oh, he wus er starchy lookin' tree I tell yer. Look like he wus de fines'

lookin' uv all de tree chillun.”

”One day Bob Win' put on his fine linnin duster an' he come er projeckin'

an' frolickin' 'roun' de Reed gals down in de Cane Break. Dey has er heap er fun, I tell yer. Bob allus crackin' his jokes ter 'em tell dey mos'

die fallin' 'ginst one nuth'r laffin'.

”'Simmon Tree git so mad 'caze he can't fly 'roun' an' projeck wid de gals like Bob, dat he 'fuse ter speak ter Bob's howdy. Bob he sorter laf an'

flutt'r 'Simmon Tree's leaves back'ards. 'Simmon Tree git mad es fire den, an' he tell him ter 'clar out!'