“‘Ef you don’t lemme loose, I’ll
knock you agin,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, en
wid dat he fotch ‘er a wipe wid de udder han’,
en dat stuck. Tar-Baby, she ain’t sayin’
nuthin’, en Brer Fox, he lay low.
“‘Tu’n me loose, fo’ I kick
de natchul stuffin’ outen you,’ sez Brer
Rabbit, sezee, but de Tar-Baby, she ain’t sayin’
nuthin’. She des hilt on, en de Brer Rabbit
lose de use er his feet in de same way. Brer
Fox, he lay low. Den Brer Rabbit squall out dat
ef de Tar-Baby don’t tu’n ’im loose
he butt ’er cranksided. En den he butted,
en his head got stuck. Den Brer Fox, he sa’ntered
fort’, lookin’ dez ez innercent ez wunner
yo’ mammy’s mockin’- birds.
“Howdy, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.
’You look sorter stuck up dis mawnin’,’
sezee, en den he rolled on de groun’, en laft
en laft twel he couldn’t laff no mo’.
’I speck you’ll take dinner wid me dis
time, Brer Rabbit. I done laid in some calamus
root, en I ain’t gwineter take no skuse,’
sez Brer Fox, sezee.”
Here Uncle Remus paused, and drew a two-pound yam
out of the ashes.
“Did the fox eat the rabbit?” asked the
little boy to whom the story had been told.
“Dat’s all de fur de tale goes,”
replied the old man. “He mout, an den agin
he moutent. Some say Judge B’ar come ’long
en loosed ‘im—some say he didn’t.
I hear Miss Sally callin’. You better run
’long.”
“One night,” said Uncle Remus—taking
Miss Sally’s little boy on his knee, and stroking
the child’s hair thoughtfully and caressingly—“one
night Brer Possum call by fer Brer Coon, ‘cordin’
ter ‘greement, en atter gobblin’ up a dish
er fried greens en smokin’ a seegyar, dey rambled
fort’ fer ter see how de ballance er de settlement
wuz gittin’ long. Brer Coon, he wuz one
er deze yer natchul pacers, en he racked ’long
same ez Mars John’s bay pony, en Brer Possum
he went in a han’-gallup; en dey got over heap
er groun, mon. Brer Possum, he got his belly full
er ’simmons, en Brer Coon, he scoop up a ’bunnunce
er frogs en tadpoles. Dey amble long, dey did,
des ez sociable ez a basket er kittens, twel bimeby
dey hear Mr. Dog talkin’ ter hisse’f way
off in de woods.
“‘Spozen he runs up on us, Brer Possum,
w’at you gwineter do?’ sez Brer Coon,
sezee. Brer Possum sorter laugh ’round de
cornders un his mouf.
“‘Oh, ef he come, Brer Coon, I’m
gwineter stan’ by you,’ sez Brer Possum.
‘W’at you gwineter do?’ sezee.
“‘Who? me?’ sez Brer Coon.
’Ef he run up onter me, I lay I give ‘im
one twis’,’ sezee.”
“Did the dog come?” asked the little boy.
