“An’ wid dat de Jay went out, an’ lef de po’ Woodpecker er lyin’ dar; an’ by’mby Miss Robin come erlong; an’ wen she seed de Woodpecker, she axt ’im ‘wat’s he doin’ down dar on de groun’?’ an’ atter he up an’ tol’ her, an’ tol’ her how de Jay Bird wuz er grin’in’ his axe fur ter chop offn his head, den de Robin she sot to an’ try ter lif’ de stick offn him.  She straint an’ she straint, but her strengt’ wan’t ’nuff fur ter move hit den; an’ so she sez, ‘Mr. Woodpecker,’ sez she, ‘s’posin’ I cotch holt yer feet, an’ try ter pull yer back dis way?’ ‘All right,’ sez de Woodpecker; an’ de Robin, she cotch er good grip on his feet, an’ she brace herse’f up ‘gins er bush, an’ pullt wid all her might, an’ atter er wile she fotch ‘im thu; but she wuz bleeged fur ter lef’ his topknot behin’, fur his head wuz skunt des ez clean ez yer han’; an’ ’twuz jes ez raw, honey, ez er piece er beef.

“An’ wen de Robin seed dat, she wuz mighty ‘stressed; an’ she tuck his head an’ helt it gins her breas’ fur ter try an’ cumfut him, an’ de blood got all ober her breas’, an’ hit’s red plum tell yit.

“Well, de Woodpecker he went erlong home, an’ de Robin she nusst him tell his head got well; but de topknot wuz gone, an’ it pyeart like de blood all settled in his head, caze fum dat day ter dis his head’s ben red.”

“An’ did he marry the Robin?” asked Diddie.

“Now I done tol’ yer all I know,” said Uncle Bob.  “I gun yer de tale jes like I hyearn it, an’ I ain’t er gwine ter make up nuffin’, an’ tell yer wat I dunno ter be de truff.  Efn dar’s any mo’ ter it, den I ain’t neber hyearn hit.  I gun yer de tale jes like hit wuz gunt ter me, an’ efn yer ain’t satisfied wid hit, den I can’t holp it.”

“But we are satisfied, Uncle Bob,” said Diddie.  “It was a very pretty tale, and we are much obliged to you.”

“Yer mo’n welcome, honey,” said Uncle Bob, soothed by Diddie’s answer—­“yer mo’n welcome; but hit’s gittin’ too late fur you chil’en ter be out; yer’d better be er gittin’ toerds home.”

Here the little girls looked at each other in some perplexity, for they knew Diddie had been missed, and they were afraid to go to the house.

“Uncle Bob,” said Diddie, “we’ve done er wrong thing this evenin’:  we ran away fum Miss Carrie, an’ we’re scared of papa; he might er lock us all up in the library, an’ talk to us, an’ say he’s ‘stonished an’ mortified, an’ so we’re scared to go home.”

“Umph!” said Uncle Bob; “you chil’en is mighty bad, anyhow.”

“I think we’re heap mo’ better’n we’re bad,” said Dumps.

“Well, dat mout er be so,” said the old man; “I ain’t er ‘sputin’ it, but you chil’en comes fum er mighty high-minded stock uv white folks, an’ hit ain’t becomin’ in yer fur ter be runnin’ erway an’ er hidin’ out, same ez oberseer’s chil’en, an’ all kin’ er po’ white trash.”