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.