“It’s a wonder,” said the little
boy, after a while, “that the rope didn’t
break.”
“Break who?” exclaimed Uncle Remus, with
a touch of indignation in his tone—“break
who? In dem days, Miss Meadows’s bed-cord
would a hilt a mule.”
This put an end to whatever doubts the child might
have entertained.
1 Help; helped.
“Hit look like ter me,” said Uncle
Remus, frowning, as the little boy came hopping and
skipping into the old man’s cabin, “dat
I see a young un ‘bout yo’ size playin’
en makin’ free wid dem ar chilluns er ole Miss
Favers’s yistiddy, en w’en I seed dat,
I drap my axe, en I come in yer en sot flat down right
whar you er settin’ now, en I say ter myse’f
dat it’s ’bout time fer ole Remus fer
ter hang up en quit. Dat’s des zackly w’at
I say.”
“Well, Uncle Remus, they called me,” said
the little boy, in a penitent tone. ’They
come and called me, and said they had a pistol and
some powder over there.”
“Dar now!” exclaimed the old man, indignantly.
“Dar now! w’at I bin sayin’?
Hit’s des a born blessin’ dat you wa’n’t
brung home on a litter wid bofe eyeballs hangin’
out en one year clean gone; dat’s w’at
‘tis. Hit’s des a born blessin’.
Hit hope me up might’ly de udder day w’en
I hear Miss Sally layin’ down de law ’bout
you en dem Favers chillun, yit, lo en behol’s,
de fus news I knows yer you is han’-in-glove
wid um. Hit’s nuff fer ter fetch ole Miss
right up out’n dat berryin’-groun’
fum down dar in Putmon County, en w’at yo’
gran’ma wouldn’t er stood me en yo’
ma ain’t gwineter stan’ nudder, en de
nex time I hear ’bout sech a come off ez dis,
right den en dar I’m boun’ ter lay de case
‘fo’ Miss Sally. Dem Favers’s
wa’n’t no ’count ‘fo’
de war, en dey wa’n’t no ‘count
endurin’ er de war, en dey ain’t no ’count
atterwards, en w’iles my head’s hot you
ain’t gwineter go mixin’ up yo’se’f
wid de riff-raff er creashun.”
The little boy made no further attempt to justify
his conduct. He was a very wise little boy, and
he knew that, in Uncle Remus’s eyes, he had
been guilty of a flagrant violation of the family
code. Therefore, instead of attempting to justify
himself, he pleaded guilty, and promised that he would
never do so any more. After this there was a
long period of silence, broken only by the vigorous
style in which Uncle Remus puffed away at his pipe.
This was the invariable result. Whenever the
old man had occasion to reprimand the little boy—and
the occasions were frequent—he would relapse
into a dignified but stubborn silence. Presently
the youngster drew forth from his pocket a long piece
of candle. The sharp eyes of the old man saw
it at once.
“Don’t you come a tellin’ me dat
Miss Sally gun you dat,” he exclaimed, “kaze
she didn’t. En I lay you hatter be monstus
sly ‘fo’ you gotter chance fer ter snatch
up dat piece er cannle.”
