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The woodcock nested there, and in warm June days dozed under the shade of the fine old trees; and there the oriole sang a lullaby to her hanging cradle that rocked in the wind.

The tranquilness of the place was never disturbed save by the canticles of song birds and the almost nightly baying of some coon dog, for until of late the darkies never thought of going anywhere else to put up coons or ’possums than “Haylan’” Branch, as they called it.

Little Billy was not pious, and, if he knew his prayers, never said them. He doted on all sorts of sports, and, though a poor shot, entered all the turkey-shooting contests Thanksgiving Day. He chewed the best tobacco, danced with the dancers, played the banjo and jewsharp, always had a jug of molasses, a pair of gum boots, fiddle-strings and fiddle—all purchased with his coon, ’possum and muskrat money.

Scipio Jones’ experience had pretty well frightened off Miles River Neck hunters (see “Romp’s Mustake”), but of late darkies from Queen Anne’s and Caroline Counties had been hunting Hayland Branch, and Billy became jealous, wanting to be the only hunter, and sought to get his Mars Pinckney, who owned the meadow, to help him; and his success was more than he anticipated.