de bes’ er de dinner w’at dey lef’
layin’ out, en den he come back en wake up Brer
Fox, en show ’im de butter on Brer Possum mouf.
Den dey wake up Brer Possum, en tell ’im ’bout
it, but c’ose Brer Possum ’ny it ter de
las’. Brer Fox, dough, he’s a kinder
lawyer, en he argafy dis way—dat Brer Possum
wuz de fus one at de butter, en de fus one fer ter
miss it, en mo’n dat, dar hang de signs on his
mouf. Brer Possum see dat dey got ’im jammed
up in a cornder, en den he up en say dat de way fer
ter ketch de man w’at stole de butter is ter
b’il’ a big bresh-heap en set her afier,
en all han’s try ter jump over, en de one w’at
fall in, den he de chap w’at stole de butter.
Brer Rabbit en Brer Fox dey is bofe ’gree, dey
did, en dey whirl in en b’il’ de breshheap,
en dey b’il’ her high en dey b’il’
her wide, en den dey totch her off. W’en
she got ter blazin’ up good, Brer Rabbit, he
tuck de fus turn. He sorter step back, en look
‘roun’ en giggle, en over he went mo’
samer dan a bird flyin’. Den come Brer
Fox. He got back little fudder, en spit on his
han’s, en lit out en made de jump, en he come
so nigh gittin’ in dat de een’ er his
tail kotch afier. Ain’t you never see no
fox, honey?” inquired Uncle Remus, in a tone
that implied both conciliation and information.
The little boy thought probably he had, but he wouldn’t
commit himself.
“Well, den,” continued the old man, “nex’
time you see one un um, you look right close en see
ef de een’ er his tail ain’t w’ite.
Hit’s des like I tell you. Dey b’ars
de skyar er dat bresh-heap down ter dis day.
Dey er marked—dat’s w’at dey
is—dey er marked.”
“And what about Brother Possum?” asked
the little boy.
“Ole Brer Possum, he tuck a runnin’ start,
he did, en he come lumberin’ ’long, en
he lit—kerblam!—right in de middle
er de fier, en dat wuz de las’ er ole Brer Possum.”
“But, Uncle Remus, Brother Possum didn’t
steal the butter after all,” said the little
boy, who was not at all satisfied with such summary
injustice.
“Dat w’at make I say w’at I duz,
honey. In dis worl’, lots er fokes is gotter
suffer fer udder fokes sins. Look like hit’s
mighty wrong; but hit’s des dat away. Tribbalashun
seem like she’s a waitin’ roun’
de cornder fer ter ketch one en all un us, honey.”
“Hit look like ter me dat I let on de udder
night dat in dem days w’en de creeturs wuz santer’n
‘roun’ same like fokes, none un um wuz
brash nuff fer ter ketch up wid Brer Rabbit,”
remarked Uncle Remus, reflectively.
“Yes,” replied the little boy, “that’s
what you said.”
“Well, den,” continued the old man with
unction, “dar’s whar my ’membunce
gin out, kaze Brer Rabbit did git kotched up wid, en
hit cool ‘im off like po’in’ spring
water on one er deze yer biggity fices.”
“How was that, Uncle Remus?” asked the
little boy.
