'at by fo' in de mawnin' I'd be twenty-five mile down de river, en den I'd slip in jis b'fo' daylight en swim asho', en take to de woods on de Illinois side. “But I didn' have no luck.  When we 'uz mos' down to de head er de islan' a man begin to come aft wid de lantern, I see it warn't no use fer to wait, so I slid overboard en struck out fer de islan'.  Well, I had a notion I could lan' mos' anywhers, but I couldn't--bank too bluff.  I 'uz mos' to de foot er de islan' b'fo' I found' a good place.  I went into de woods en jedged I wouldn' fool wid raffs no mo', long as dey move de lantern roun' so.  I had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg, en some matches in my cap, en dey warn't wet, so I 'uz all right.” “And so you ain't had no meat nor bread to eat all this time?  Why didn't you get mud-turkles?” “How you gwyne to git 'm?  You can't slip up on um en grab um; en how's a body gwyne to hit um wid a rock?  How could a body do it in de night?  En I warn't gwyne to show mysef on de bank in de daytime.” “Well, that's so.  You've had to keep in the woods all the time, of course. Did you hear 'em shooting the cannon?” “Oh, yes.  I knowed dey was arter you.  I see um go by heah--watched um thoo de bushes.” Some young birds come along, flying a yard or two at a time and lighting. Jim said it was a sign it was going to rain.  He said it was a sign when young chickens flew that way, and so he reckoned it was the same way when young birds done it.  I was going to catch some of them, but Jim wouldn't let me.  He said it was death.  He said his father laid mighty sick once, and some of them catched a bird, and his old granny said his father would die, and he did. And Jim said you mustn't count the things you are going to cook for dinner, because that would bring bad luck.  The same if you shook the table-cloth after sundown.  And he said if a man owned a beehive and that man died, the bees must be told about it before sun-up next morning, or else the bees would all weaken do