“What did the Buzzard do then?” asked
the little boy.
“Dey riz,” continued Uncle Remus, “en
w’en dey lit, dey lit in de top er de highest
sorter pine, en de pine w’at dey lit in wuz
growin’ on er ilun, en de ilun wuz in de middle
er de river, wid de deep water runnin’ all ‘roun’.
Dey ain’t mo’n lit ‘fo’ Brer
Rabbit, he know w’ich way de win’ ‘uz
blowin’, en by de time ole Brer Buzzard got
hisse’f balance on a lim’, Brer Rabbit,
he up’n say, sezee:
“’W’iles we er res’n here,
Brer Buzzard, en bein’s you bin so good, I got
sump’n fer ter tell you,’ sezee. ’I
got a gol’-mine er my own, one w’at I
make myse’f, en I speck we better go back ter
mine ‘fo’ we bodder ‘longer yone,’
sezee.
“Den ole Brer Buzzard, he laff, he did, twel
he shake, en Brer Rabbit, he sing out:
“‘Hol’ on, Brer Buzzard! Don’t
flop yo’ wings w’en you laff, kaze den
if you duz, sump’n ’ill drap fum up yer,
en my gol’-mine won’t do you no good,
en needer will yone do me no good.’
“But ‘fo’ dey got down fum dar,
Brer Rabbit done tole all ’bout de crap, en
he hatter prommus fer ter ’vide fa’r en
squar. So Brer Buzzard, he kyar ’im back,
en Brer Rabbit he walk weak in de knees a mont’
atterwuds.”
“Fin’ um whar you will en w’en
you may,” remarked Uncle Remus with emphasis,
“good chilluns allers gits tuck keer on.
Dar wuz Brer Rabbit’s chilluns; dey minded der
daddy en mammy fum day’s een’ ter day’s
een’. W’en ole man Rabbit say scoot,’
dey scooted, en w’en ole Miss Rabbit say ‘scat,’
dey scatted. Dey did dat. En dey kep der
cloze clean, en dey ain’t had no smut on der
nose nudder.”
Involuntarily the hand of the little boy went up to
his face, and he scrubbed the end of his nose with
his coat-sleeve.
“Dey wuz good chilluns,” continued the
old man, heartily, “en ef dey hadn’t er
bin, der wuz one time w’en dey wouldn’t
er bin no little rabbits—na’er one.
Dat’s w’at.”
“What time was that, Uncle Remus?” the
little boy asked.
“De time w’en Brer Fox drapt in at Brer
Rabbit house, en didn’t foun’ nobody dar
ceppin’ de little Rabbits. Ole Brer Rabbit,
he wuz off some’rs raiding on a collard patch,
en ole Miss Rabbit she wuz tendin’ on a quiltin’
in de naberhood, en wiles de little Rabbits wuz playin’
hidin’-switch, in drapt Brer Fox. De little
Rabbits wuz so fat dat dey fa’rly make his mouf
water, but he ’member ’bout Brer Wolf,
en he skeer’d fer ter gobble urn up ceppin’
he got some skuse. De little Rabbits, dey mighty
skittish, en dey sorter huddle deyse’f up tergedder
en watch Brer Fox motions. Brer Fox, he sot dar
en study w’at sorter skuse he gwineter make
up. Bimeby he see a great big stalk er sugar-cane
stan’in’ up in de cornder, en he cle’r
up his th’oat en talk biggity:
“’Yer! you young Rabs dar, sail ‘roun’
yer en broke me a piece er dat sweetnin’-tree,’
sezee, en den he koff.
