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THE HIBERNIAN BRER FOX; OR, UNCLE REMUS IN IRELAND.

[Illustration:  BRER “FOX.”]

“Now, ’bout dat time, honey,” pursued Uncle REMUS, “Brer Fox he lay low pooty well all der time.”

“Why was that?” asked the little boy.

“Dat,” replied the old man, “was des w’at his frends wanted fer ter know.  But Brer Fox, he ain’t sayin’ nuthin’.  Den dey sorter dallo roun’ waiting fo’ Brer Fox.  En dey keep on waitin’, but no Brer Fox ain’t come.”

“What was Brer Fox doing all this time?” asked the little boy.

“Oh, well den!” exclaimed the old man, “chilluns can’t speck ter know all ’bout eve’ything.  And bless grashus, honey! some er der doin’s er Brer Fox ’bout dis yer time ain’t fit fer chilluns ter know.  Brer Fox, I’m feared, wuz kinder simpertin’ roun’ atter udder people’s prop’ty, and dat’s des why he lay low, en ain’t say nuthin’.”

“However,” pursued the old man, after a pause,—­

  “’De place wharbouts you spill de grease,
  Right dar youer boun’ ter slide.’

And bimeby Brer Fox he sorter slid up ker-slump, he did, on his own slide, an’ his frens dey done ’fuse m’on m’on to live naberly wid him, see’n ez he’d done broke der laws er naberly conduc’ as der beastesses hold ’em.  En Brer Rabbit—­Ole Man Rabbit, as dey call him—­he up en he sez, sezee, I ain’t gwineter ‘sociate long er no Brer Foxes no mo’, he sez; ’taint ‘spectubble, he sez.  An’ nex time Brer Rabbit met Brer Fox, Brer Rabbit ’fuse ter ’spon ter his howdy, and dis make Brer Fox feel mighty bad, seein’ ez how dey useter make so many scurshuns togedder.

“Hol’ on dar, Brer Rabbit!” sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“I ain’t got time, Brer Fox,” says Brer Rabbit, sezee, kinder mendin’ his licks.

“I wanter have some confab wid you, Brer Rabbit,” says Brer Fox, sezee.

“All right, Brer Fox, but you had better holler fum whar’ you stan’,” sez Brer Rabbit, “so’s der res’ may hear.  I sorter members der las’ time we confabbed togedder, sezee, when we war des as soshubble ez er basket er kittens, twel bimeby you kinder went down to der bottom kerblunkity-blunk, and den you sorter rounded on me ’bout der privit palaver, en I des don’t like der way ez der sym’tums seem to segashuate,” says Brer Rabbit, sezee.

“Youer stuck up, dat’s w’at you is, but you ain’t gwineter boss me,” says Brer Fox, sezee.

Brer Rabbit, he sorter chuckle in his stummuck, he did, but he ain’t sayin’ nuthin’.

“I’m gwineter larn you howter talk ter ’spectubble fokes if hit’s der las’ ack,” says Brer Fox, sezee.  “Ef you don’t take off dat hat, and tell me howdy, I’m gwineter to bus’ you wide open, sezee, ef I busses myself at der same time,” sezee.

Den Brer Rabbit he fotch up on his behime legs like he wuz ’stonished, but he stan’ on his dignitude, and he ain’t sayin’ nuthin!