“Uncle Remus, you haven’t told me how you knew me in that great crowd.”

The old man chuckled, and gave the horses a gentle rap with the whip.

“Who?  Me!  I know’d you by de faver.  Dat boy er Mars John’s is de ve’y spit en immij un you.  I’d a know’d you in New ’Leens, let lone down dar in de kyar-shed.”

This was Miss Theodosia’s introduction to Uncle Remus.  One Sunday afternoon, a few weeks after her arrival, the family were assembled in the piazza enjoying the mild weather.  Mr. Huntingdon was reading a newspaper; his wife was crooning softly as she rocked the baby to sleep; and the little boy was endeavoring to show his Aunt Dosia the outlines of Kennesaw Mountain through the purple haze that hung like a wonderfully fashioned curtain in the sky and almost obliterated the horizon.  While they were thus engaged, Uncle Remus came around the corner of the house, talking to himself.

“Dey er too lazy ter wuk,” he was saying, “en dey specks hones’ fokes fer ter stan’ up en s’port um.  I’m gwine down ter Putmon County whar Mars Jeems is—­dat’s w’at I’m agwine ter do.”

“What’s the matter now, Uncle Remus?” inquired Mr. Huntingdon, folding up his newspaper.

“Nuthin’ ’tall, Mars John, ’ceppin deze yer sunshine niggers.  Dey begs my terbacker, en borrys my tools, en steals my vittles, en hit’s done come ter dat pass dat I gotter pack up en go.  I’m agwine down ter Putmon, dat’s w’at.”

Uncle Remus was accustomed to make this threat several times a day, but upon this occasion it seemed to remind Mr. Huntingdon of something.

“Very well,” he said, “I’ll come around and help you pack up, but before you go I want you to tell Sister here how you went to war and fought for the Union.—­Remus was a famous warrior,” he continued, turning to Miss Theodosia; “he volunteered for one day, and commanded an army of one.  You know the story, but you have never heard Remus’s version.”

Uncle Remus shuffled around in an awkward, embarrassed way, scratched his head, and looked uncomfortable.

“Miss Doshy ain’t got no time fer ter set dar an’ year de ole nigger run on.”

“Oh, yes, I have, Uncle Remus!” exclaimed the young lady; “plenty of time.”

The upshot of it was that, after many ridiculous protests, Uncle Remus sat down on the steps, and proceeded to tell his story of the war.  Miss Theodosia listened with great interest, but throughout it all she observed—­and she was painfully conscious of the fact, as she afterward admitted—­that Uncle Remus spoke from the standpoint of a Southerner, and with the air of one who expected his hearers to thoroughly sympathize with him.