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"Come here, you," spoke a low voice as Croaker settled on the other side of the wood pile, and the crow promptly perched himself on Billy's shoulder with a succession of throaty notes that sounded like crazy laughter, but which were really expressions of unadulterated joy. For this boy who had taken him from the nest in the swaying elm when he was nothing but a half-feathered, wide-mouthed fledgling, and had fed him, cared for him, defended him against cat, dog, rooster and human beings—for this boy alone Croaker felt all the love his selfish heart was capable of giving. "Oh please don't do that," begged Maurice. "I'm jest a little weak, that's all. You leave me here an' send Anse back to stay with me. I do so want to go over in the woods fer a little while, Missus Wilson." Billy started. "Oh gosh! I dunno, Mr. Spencer; I jest cut the first ones come into my head.".
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"You told me to bring it in, didn't you?" Billy inquired, mildly. A short, heavy set man stirred in his seat, and spoke without rising. "I'm only a poor workin'-man, without anythin' to give but the strength of my arm, but I'm willin' to go down and help them fishermen build their smoke-houses. I'm a pretty good carpenter, as you men know." Croaker considered this last statement a moment. Then he carefully raised one foot and twisted half way around on the bar. "Frightened! Oh gollies, I was so scared that I chattered my teeth loose. But honest Injun, Lou, I don't scare easy. I wouldn't like you to think that I'm a scare-cat about real things. I'm jest scared of ghosts, that's all.".
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