“‘W’at ail you now, Brer Tarrypin?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“‘Tuck a walk de udder day, en man come long en sot de fiel’ a-fier.  Lor’, Brer Fox, you dunner w’at trubble is,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee.

“‘How you git out de fier, Brer Tarrypin?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“‘Sot en tuck it, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee.  ’Sot en tuck it, en de smoke sif’ in my eye, en de fier scorch my back,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee.

“‘Likewise hit bu’n yo’ tail off,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“‘Oh, no, dar’s de tail, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee, en wid dat he oncurl his tail fum under de shell, en no sooner did he do dat dan Brer Fox grab it, en holler out: 

“’Oh, yes, Brer Tarrypin!  Oh, yes!  En so you er de man w’at lam me on de head at Miss Meadows’s is you?  You er in wid Brer Rabbit, is you?  Well, I’m gwineter out you.’

“Brer Tarrypin beg en beg, but ’twan’t no use.  Brer Fox done been fool so much dat he look like he termin’ fer ter have Brer Tarrypin haslett.  Den Brer Tarrypin beg Brer Fox not fer ter drown ‘im, but Brer Fox ain’t makin’ no prommus, en den he beg Brer Fox fer ter bu’n’ ’im, kase he done useter fier, but Brer Fox don’t say nuthin’.  Bimeby Brer Fox drag Brer Tarrypin off little ways b’low de spring-’ouse, en souze him under de water.  Den Brer Tarrypin begin fer ter holler: 

“’Tu’n loose dat stump root en ketch holt er me—­tu’n loose dat stump root en ketch holt er me.’

“Brer Fox he holler back: 

“‘I ain’t got holt er no stump root, en I is got holt er you.’

“Brer Tarrypin he keep on holler’n: 

“’Ketch holt er me—­I’m a drownin’—­I’m a drownin’—­tu’n loose de stump root en ketch holt er me.’

“Sho nuff, Brer Fox tu’n loose de tail, en Brer Tarrypin, he went down ter de bottom—­kerblunkity-blink!”

No typographical combination or description could do justice to the guttural sonorousness—­the peculiar intonation—­which Uncle Remus imparted to this combination.  It was so peculiar, indeed, that the little boy asked: 

“How did he go to the bottom, Uncle Remus?”

“Kerblunkity-blink!”

“Was he drowned, Uncle Remus?”

“Who?  Ole man Tarrypin?  Is you drowndid w’en yo’ ma tucks you in de bed?”

“Well, no,” replied the little boy, dubiously.

“Ole man Tarrypin ’wuz at home I tell you, honey.  Kerblinkity-blunk!”

XIII.  THE AWFUL FATE OF MR. WOLF

Uncle remus was half-soling one of his shoes, and his Miss Sally’s little boy had been handling his awls, his hammers, and his knives to such an extent that the old man was compelled to assume a threatening attitude; but peace reigned again, and the little boy perched himself on a chair, watching Uncle Remus driving in pegs.

“Folks w’at’s allers pesterin’ people, en bodderin’ ’longer dat w’at ain’t der’n, don’t never come ter no good een’.  Dar wuz Brer Wolf; stidder mindin’ un his own bizness, he hatter take en go in pardnerships wid Brer Fox, en dey want skacely a minnit in de day dat he want atter Brer Rabbit, en he kep’ on en kep’ on twel fus’ news you knowed he got kotch up wid—­en he got kotch up wid monstus bad.”