"There, Philip dear, never mind," said Miss Laura, "we'll have Ben mend it for you when he comes, next time, and then you can play with it again."
Peter had brought with him some hooks and lines, and, he and Phil, after leaving the house, followed the bank of the creek, climbing a fence now and then, until they reached the old mill site, upon which work had not yet begun. They found a shady spot, and seating themselves upon the bank, baited their lines, and dropped them into a quiet pool. For quite a while their patience was unrewarded by anything more than a nibble. By and by a black cat came down from the ruined mill, and sat down upon the bank at a short distance from them.
"I reckon we'll haf ter move, honey," said the old man. "We ain't gwine ter have no luck fishin' 'g'ins' no ole black cat."
"But cats don't fish, Uncle Peter, do they?"
"Law', chile, you'll never know w'at dem critters _kin_ do, 'tel you's watched 'em long ez I has! Keep yo' eye on dat one now."
The cat stood by the stream, in a watchful attitude. Suddenly she darted her paw into the shallow water and with a lightning-like movement drew out a small fish, which she took in her mouth, and retired with it a few yards up the bank.
"Jes' look at dat ole devil," said Peter, "playin' wid dat fish jes' lack it wuz a mouse! She'll be comin' down heah terreckly tellin' us ter go 'way fum her fishin' groun's."
"Why, Uncle Peter," said Phil incredulously, "cats can't talk!"
"Can't dey? Hoo said dey couldn'? Ain't Miss Grac'ella an' me be'n tellin' you right along 'bout Bre'r Rabbit and Bre'r Fox an de yuther creturs talkin' an' gwine on jes' lak folks?"
"Yes, Uncle Peter, but those were just stories; they didn't really talk, did they?"
"Law', honey," said the old man, with a sly twinkle in his rheumy eye, "you is de sma'tes' little white boy I ever knowed, but you is got a monst'us heap ter l'arn yit, chile. Nobody ain' done tol' you 'bout de Black Cat an' de Ha'nted House, is dey?"
"I didn' knowed but Miss Grac'ella mought a tole you--she knows mos' all de tales."
"No, she hasn't. You tell me about it, Uncle Peter."
"Well," said Peter, "does you 'member dat coal-black man dat drives de lumber wagon?"
"Yes, he goes by our house every day, on the way to the sawmill."