We could see the glow of the setting sun through the tree-tops when we woke, and began our packing.
'We'll hev t' hurry,' said Uncle Eb, 'er we'll never git out o' the woods t'night 'S 'bout six mile er more t' Paradise Road, es I mek it.
Come, yer slower 'n a toad in a tar barrel.' We hurried off on the trail and I remember Fred looked very crestfallen with two big packages tied to his collar.

He delayed a bit by trying to shake them off, but Uncle Eb gave him a sharp word or two and then he walked along very thoughtfully.

Uncle Eb was a little out of patience that evening, and I thought he bore down too harshly in his rebuke of the old dog.
'You shif'less cuss,' he said to him, 'ye'd jes' dew nothin' but chase squirrels an' let me break my back t' carry yer dinner.' It was glooming fast in the thick timber, and Uncle Eb almost ran with me while the way was plain.

The last ringing note of the wood thrush had died away and in a little while it was so dark I could distinguish nothing but the looming mass of tree tranks.
He stopped suddenly and strained his eyes in the dark.

Then he whistled a sharp, sliding note, and the sound of it gave me some hint of his trouble.
'Git down, Willie,' said he, 'an' tek my hand.