He sat talking with Uncle Eb for an hour or so, and the woods were darkling when he went away.
When he started on the dark trail that led to the clearing, I wondered at his courage--it was so black beyond the firelight.

While we sat alone I plead for a story, but the thoughts of Uncle Eb had gone to roost early in a sort of gloomy meditation.
'Be still, my boy,' said he, 'an' go t' sleep.

I ain't agoin' t' tell no yarns an' git ye all stirred up.

Ye go t' sleep.

Come mornin' we'll go down t' the brook an' see if we can't find a mink or tew 'n the traps.' I remember hearing a great crackling of twigs in the dark wood before I slept.