“’He diggy, diggy, diggy, but no meat dar! He diggy, diggy, diggy, but no meat dar!’
“Kase all de time de cow wuz layin’ pile up in his smoke-’ouse, en him en his chilluns wuz eatin’ fried beef an inguns eve’y time dey mouf water.
“Now den, honey, you take dis yer w’ip,” continued the old man, twining the leather thong around the little boy’s neck, “en scamper up ter de big ’ouse en tell Miss Sally fer ter gin you some un it de nex’ time she fine yo’ tracks in de sugar-bar’l.”
“Dere wuz nudder man dat sorter play it sharp on Brer Rabbit,” said Uncle Remus, as, by some mysterious process, he twisted a hog’s bristle into the end of a piece of thread—an operation which the little boy watched with great interest. “In dem days,” continued the old man, “de creeturs kyar’d on marters same ez fokes. Dey went inter fahmin’, en I speck ef de troof wuz ter come out, dey kep’ sto’, en had der camp-meetin’ times en der bobbycues w’en de wedder wuz ’greeble.”
Uncle Remus evidently thought that the little boy wouldn’t like to hear of any further discomfiture of Brer Rabbit, who had come to be a sort of hero, and he was not mistaken.
“I thought the Terrapin was the only one that fooled the Rabbit,” said the little boy, dismally.
“Hit’s des like I tell you, honey. Dey ain’t no smart man, ‘cep’ w’at dey’s a smarter. Ef ole Brer Rabbit hadn’t er got kotch up wid, de nabers ’ud er took ’im for a ha’nt, en in dem times dey bu’nt witches ‘fo’ you could squinch yo’ eyeballs. Dey did dat.”
“Who fooled the Rabbit this time?” the little boy asked.
When Uncle Remus had the bristle “sot” in the thread, he proceeded with the story:
“One time Brer Rabbit en ole Brer Buzzard ’cluded dey’d sorter go shares, en crap tergedder. Hit wuz a mighty good year, en de truck tu’n out monstus well, but bimeby, w’en de time come fer dividjun, hit come ter light dat ole Brer Buzzard ain’t got nuthin’. De crap wuz all gone, en dey want nuthin’ dar fer ter show fer it. Brer Rabbit, he make like he in a wuss fix’n Brer Buzzard, en he mope ‘roun’, he did, like he fear’d dey gwineter sell ’im out.
“Brer Buzzard, he ain’t sayin’ nuthin’, but he keep up a monstus thinkin’, en one day he come ’long en holler en tell Brer Rabbit dat he done fine rich gol’-mine des ’cross de river.
“‘You come en go longer me, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Tukkey Buzzard, sezee. ’Ill scratch en you kin grabble, en ’tween de two un us we’ll make short wuk er dat gol’-mine,’ sezee.
“Brer Rabbit, he wuz high up fer de job, but he study en study, he did, how he gwineter git ’cross de water, kaze ev’y time he git his foot wet all de fambly kotch col’. Den he up’n ax Brer Buzzard how he gwine do, en Brer Buzzard he up’n say dat he kyar Brer Rabbit ’cross, en wid dat ole Brer Buzzard, he squot down, he did, en spread his wings, en Brer Rabbit, he mounted, en up dey riz.” There was a pause.