furthest, to-morrow morning. I left the bird with the servant at the door, who could hardly believe what he saw. As I passed out of my front gate on my way there, the boy who returns about that time from the pasture for his cows joined me as I hurried along, attracted by the fluttering of the bird in the cage.
“Is it the red-bird? I tried to ketch him once,” he said, with entire forgiveness of me, as having served him right, “but I caught something else. I’ll never forget that whipping. Oh, but wouldn’t I like to have him! Mr. Moss, you wouldn’t mind my trying to ketch one of them little bits o’ brown fellows, would you, that hops around under them pine-trees? They ain’t no account to nobody. Oh my! but wouldn’t I like to have him! May I bring my trap some time, and will you help me to ketch one o’ them little bits o’ brown ones? You can beat me ketchin’ ’em!”