"Cur'us how he can git along without any fur," says the mother swift, as she run er nose over 'is bare foot.

He thought of 'is folks waitin' fer him an' he begged em t' let 'im go.

Then they come an' smelt 'im over.
'"Yer sech a cunnin' critter," says the mother swift, "we couldn't spare ye." '"Want to see my mother," says the boy sobbing.
'"Couldn't afford t' let ye go--yer so cute," says the swift.

"Bring the poor critter a bone an' a bit o' snake meat." 'The boy couldn't eat.

They fixed a bed fer him, but 'twant clean.