"It might, although I said that to try you. They do say, though, that
'gators sometimes eat pickaninnies. The Northerners who come down here
winters are killing off the 'gators pretty fast, so the pickaninnies
are likely to live. Now mind, Beth, don't say a word about my 'gator.
You see if my folks heard about it, they might put a stop to my feeding
it. They don't think 'gators as nice as I do."

"I think they are just horrid."

Harvey laughed. "Oh, you'll like them in time."

She had her doubts about ever being fond of such pets, but did not say
so.

"I can't whistle, but would it come if I could whistle, Harvey?"

He looked very superior. "No, indeed. It won't come for any one but
me."

"How did you get it to come for you?"

"Well, you see, I used to watch that 'gator in the river; then began
bringing food for it. I reckon it thought that an easy way to live,
and it soon grew to know me. Then it learned my whistle. That's all."

Beth now remembered that her half hour must be more than over.

"Harvey, I must go. Good-bye."