6. How Mr. Lion Lost His Wool. Text Source: Uncle Remus and Brer Rabbit by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. I have removed the frame material. You can click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.
Mr. Man tuck a notion dat de time done come fer him fer ter have a hog-killin’ an’ he got ’im a big barrel, an’ fill it half full er water fum de big springs. Den he piled up ’bout a cord er wood, an’ ez he piled, he put rocks ’twix’ de logs, an’ den he sot de wood after at bofe een’s an’ in de middle. ’Twan’t long ’fo’ dey had de hogs killt, an’ eve’ything ready fer ter scrape de ha’r off. Den he tuck de red-hot rocks what he put in de fire, an’ flung um in de barrel whar de water wuz, an’ ’twan’t long, mon, ’fo’ dat water wuz ready fer ter bile. Den dey tuck de hogs, one at a time, an’ soused um in de water, an’ time dey tuck um out, he ha’r wuz ready fer ter drap out by de roots. Den dey’d scrape un wid sticks an’ chips, an’ dey aint leave a ha’r on um.
Well, bimeby, dey had all de hogs killt an’ cleaned, an’ hauled off, an’ when eve’ything wuz still ez a settin’ hen, ol’ Brer Rabbit stuck his head out fum behine a bush whar he been settin’ at. He stuck his head out, he did, an’ look all ’roun’, an’ den he went whar de fier wuz an’ try fer ter warm hisse’f. He aint been dar long ’fo’ here come Brer Wolf an’ Brer Fox, an den he got busy.
He say, "Hello, frien’s! howdy an’ welcome! I ’m des fixin’ fer ter take a warm baff like Mr. Man gi’ his hogs; wont you j’ine me?"
Dey say dey aint in no hurry, but dey holp Brer Rabbit put de hot rocks in de barrel an’ dey watch de water bubble, an’ bimeby, when eve’ything wuz ready, who should walk up but ol’ Mr. Lion?
He had a mane fum his head plum ter de een’ er his tail, an’ in some places it wuz so long it drug on de groun’—dat what make all de creeturs ’fear’d un ’im. He growl an’ ax um what dey doin’, an’ when Brer Rabbit tell ’im, he say dat’s what he long been needin’. "How does you git in?"
"Des back right in," sez ol’ Brer Rabbit, sezee, an’ wid dat, Mr. Lion backed in, an’ de water wuz so hot, he try fer ter git out, an’ he slipped in plum ter his shoulder-blades. You kin b’lieve me er not, but dat creetur wuz scall’d so dat he holler’d an’ skeer’d eve’ybody fur miles aroun’.
An when he come out, all de wool drap’t out, ’cep’ de bunch you see on his neck, an’ de leetle bit you’ll fin’ on de een’ er his tail—an’ dat’d ’a’ come off ef de tail hadn’t ’a’ slipped thoo de bung-hole er de barrel.
Showing posts with label spelling-original. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spelling-original. Show all posts
Saturday, July 18, 2015
C165. Brother Rabbit and the Gold Mine (original spelling)
5. Brother Rabbit and the Gold Mine. Text Source: Uncle Remus and Brer Rabbit by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. You can click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.
There had been silence in the cabin for a long ten minutes, and Uncle Remus, looking up, saw a threat of sleep in the little boy’s eyes. Whereupon he plunged headlong into a story without a word of explanation.
“Well, suh, one year it fell out dat de craps wuz burnt up. A dry drouth had done de work, an’ ef you’d ’a’ struck a match anywhar in dat settlement, de whole county would ’a’ blazed up. Ol’ man Hongriness des natchally tuck of his cloze an’ went paradin’ ’bout eve’ywhar, an’ de creeturs got bony an’ skinny. Ol’ Brer B’ar done better dan any un um, kaze all he hatter do wuz go ter sleep an’ live off’n his own fat; an’ Brer Rabbit an’ his ol’ ’oman had put some calamus root by, an’ saved up some sugar-cane dat dey fin’ lyin’ ’roun’ loose, an’ dey got ’long purty well. But de balance er de creeturs wuz dat ga’nt dat dey ain’t got over it down ter dis day.
“De creeturs had der meetin’-place, whar dey could all set ’roun’ an’ talk de kind er politics dey had, des like folks does at de cross-roads grocery. One day, whiles dey wuz all settin’ an’ squottin’ ’roun’, jowerin’ an’ confabbin’, Brer Rabbit, he up ’n’ say, sezee, dat ol’ Mammy-Bammy-Big-Money tol’ his great gran’daddy dat dar wuz a mighty big an’ fat gol’ mine in deze parts, an’ he say dat he wouldn’t be ’tall ’stonished ef ’twant some’rs close ter Brer B’ar’s house. Brer B’ar, he growled, he did, an’ say dat de gol’ mine better not let him fin’ it, kaze atter he got done wid it, dey won’t be no gol’ mine dar.
”Some laughed, some grinned an’ some gapped, an’, atter jowerin’ some mo’, dey all put out ter whar der famblies wuz livin’ at; but I boun’ you dey ain’t fergit ’bout dat gol’ mine, kaze, fum dat time on, go whar you mought, you’d ketch some er de creeturs diggin’ an’ grabblin’ in de groun’, some in de fields, some in de woods, an’ some in de big road; an’ dey wuz so weak an’ hongry dat dey kin skacely grabble fer fallin’ down.
“Well, dis went on fer de longest, but bimeby, one day, dey all ’gree dat sump’n bleeze ter be done, an’ dey say dey’ll all take one big hunt fer de gol’ mine, an’ den quit. Dey hunted in gangs, wid de gangs not fur fum one an’er, an’ it so happen dat Brer Rabbit wuz in de gang wid Brer Wolf, an’ he know’d dat he hatter keep his eyes wide open. All de creeturs hatter dig in diffunt places, an’ whiles Brer Rabbit want much uv a grabbler, he had a way er makin’ de yuthers b’lieve dat he wuz de best er de lot. So he made a heap er motion like he wuz t’arin’ up de yeth. Dey ain’t been gwine on dis away long fo’ Brer Wolf holler out,
“‘Run here, Brer Rabbit! I done foun’ it!’ Brer B’ar an’ Brer Fox wuz bofe diggin’ close by, an’ Brer Rabbit kinder wunk one eye at de elements; he say, sezee, ‘Glad I is fer yo’ sake, Brer Wolf; git yo’ gol’ an’ ’joy yo’se’f!’ Brer Wolf say, ‘Come git some, Brer Rabbit! Come git some!’ Ol’ Brer Rabbit ’spon’, ‘I’ll take de leavin’s, Brer Wolf; you take what you want, an’ den when you done got ’nough I’ll get de leetle bit I want.’ Brer Wolf say, ‘I wanter show you sump’n.’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘My eyes ain’t big fer nothin’.’ Brer Wolf say, ‘I got a secret I wanter tell you.’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘My y’ears ain’t long fer nothin’. Des stan’ dar an’ do yo’ whisperin’, Brer Wolf, an’ I’ll hear eve’y word you say.’
“Brer Wolf ain’t say nothin’, but make out he’s grabblin’, an’ den, all of a sudden, he made a dash at Brer Rabbit, but when he git whar Brer Rabbit wuz at, Brer Rabbit ain’t dar no mo’; he done gone. Weak an’ hongry ez he is, Brer Wolf know dat he can’t ketch Brer Rabbit, an’ so he holler out, ‘hat’s yo’ hurry, Brer Rabbit? Whar you gwine?’ Brer Rabbit holler back, ‘I’m gwine home atter a bag fer ter tote de gol’ you gwine leave me! So long, Brer Wolf; I wish you mighty well!’ an’ wid dat he put out fer home.”
There had been silence in the cabin for a long ten minutes, and Uncle Remus, looking up, saw a threat of sleep in the little boy’s eyes. Whereupon he plunged headlong into a story without a word of explanation.
“Well, suh, one year it fell out dat de craps wuz burnt up. A dry drouth had done de work, an’ ef you’d ’a’ struck a match anywhar in dat settlement, de whole county would ’a’ blazed up. Ol’ man Hongriness des natchally tuck of his cloze an’ went paradin’ ’bout eve’ywhar, an’ de creeturs got bony an’ skinny. Ol’ Brer B’ar done better dan any un um, kaze all he hatter do wuz go ter sleep an’ live off’n his own fat; an’ Brer Rabbit an’ his ol’ ’oman had put some calamus root by, an’ saved up some sugar-cane dat dey fin’ lyin’ ’roun’ loose, an’ dey got ’long purty well. But de balance er de creeturs wuz dat ga’nt dat dey ain’t got over it down ter dis day.
“De creeturs had der meetin’-place, whar dey could all set ’roun’ an’ talk de kind er politics dey had, des like folks does at de cross-roads grocery. One day, whiles dey wuz all settin’ an’ squottin’ ’roun’, jowerin’ an’ confabbin’, Brer Rabbit, he up ’n’ say, sezee, dat ol’ Mammy-Bammy-Big-Money tol’ his great gran’daddy dat dar wuz a mighty big an’ fat gol’ mine in deze parts, an’ he say dat he wouldn’t be ’tall ’stonished ef ’twant some’rs close ter Brer B’ar’s house. Brer B’ar, he growled, he did, an’ say dat de gol’ mine better not let him fin’ it, kaze atter he got done wid it, dey won’t be no gol’ mine dar.
”Some laughed, some grinned an’ some gapped, an’, atter jowerin’ some mo’, dey all put out ter whar der famblies wuz livin’ at; but I boun’ you dey ain’t fergit ’bout dat gol’ mine, kaze, fum dat time on, go whar you mought, you’d ketch some er de creeturs diggin’ an’ grabblin’ in de groun’, some in de fields, some in de woods, an’ some in de big road; an’ dey wuz so weak an’ hongry dat dey kin skacely grabble fer fallin’ down.
“Well, dis went on fer de longest, but bimeby, one day, dey all ’gree dat sump’n bleeze ter be done, an’ dey say dey’ll all take one big hunt fer de gol’ mine, an’ den quit. Dey hunted in gangs, wid de gangs not fur fum one an’er, an’ it so happen dat Brer Rabbit wuz in de gang wid Brer Wolf, an’ he know’d dat he hatter keep his eyes wide open. All de creeturs hatter dig in diffunt places, an’ whiles Brer Rabbit want much uv a grabbler, he had a way er makin’ de yuthers b’lieve dat he wuz de best er de lot. So he made a heap er motion like he wuz t’arin’ up de yeth. Dey ain’t been gwine on dis away long fo’ Brer Wolf holler out,
“‘Run here, Brer Rabbit! I done foun’ it!’ Brer B’ar an’ Brer Fox wuz bofe diggin’ close by, an’ Brer Rabbit kinder wunk one eye at de elements; he say, sezee, ‘Glad I is fer yo’ sake, Brer Wolf; git yo’ gol’ an’ ’joy yo’se’f!’ Brer Wolf say, ‘Come git some, Brer Rabbit! Come git some!’ Ol’ Brer Rabbit ’spon’, ‘I’ll take de leavin’s, Brer Wolf; you take what you want, an’ den when you done got ’nough I’ll get de leetle bit I want.’ Brer Wolf say, ‘I wanter show you sump’n.’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘My eyes ain’t big fer nothin’.’ Brer Wolf say, ‘I got a secret I wanter tell you.’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘My y’ears ain’t long fer nothin’. Des stan’ dar an’ do yo’ whisperin’, Brer Wolf, an’ I’ll hear eve’y word you say.’
“Brer Wolf ain’t say nothin’, but make out he’s grabblin’, an’ den, all of a sudden, he made a dash at Brer Rabbit, but when he git whar Brer Rabbit wuz at, Brer Rabbit ain’t dar no mo’; he done gone. Weak an’ hongry ez he is, Brer Wolf know dat he can’t ketch Brer Rabbit, an’ so he holler out, ‘hat’s yo’ hurry, Brer Rabbit? Whar you gwine?’ Brer Rabbit holler back, ‘I’m gwine home atter a bag fer ter tote de gol’ you gwine leave me! So long, Brer Wolf; I wish you mighty well!’ an’ wid dat he put out fer home.”
C164. Brother Rabbit Treats the Creeturs to a Race (original spelling)
4. Brother Rabbit Treats the Creeturs to a Race. Text Source: Uncle Remus and Brer Rabbit by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. You can click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.
One sultry summer day, while the little boy was playing not far from Uncle Remus’s cabin, a heavy black cloud made its appearance in the west, and quickly obscured the sky. It sent a brisk gale before it, as if to clear the path of leaves and dust. Presently there was a blinding flash of lightning, a snap and a crash, and, with that, the child took to his heels, and ran to Uncle Remus, who was standing in his door. “Dar now!” he exclaimed, before the echoes of the thunder had rolled away, “Dat dust an’ win’, an’ rain, puts me in mind er de time when ol’ Brer Rabbit got up a big race fer ter pleasure de yuther creeturs. It wuz de mos’ funniest race you ever hear tell on. Brer Rabbit went ’way off in de woods twel he come ter de Rainmaker’s house. He knocked an’ went in, an’ he ax de Rainmaker ef he can’t fix it up so dey kin have a race ’tween Brer Dust an’ Cousin Rain, fer ter see which kin run de fastes’. De Rainmaker growled an’ jowered, but bimeby he ’gree, but he say that ef ’twuz anybody but Brer Rabbit, he wouldn’t gi’ it but one thunk.
“Well, dey fix de day, dey did, an’ den Brer Rabbit put out ter whar de creeturs wuz stayin’ at, an’ tol’ um de news. Dey dunner how Brer Rabbit know, but dey all wanter see de race. Now, him an’ de Rainmaker had fixt it up so dat de race would be right down de middle er de big road, an’ when de day come, dar’s whar he made de creeturs stan’—Brer B’ar at de bend er de road, Brer Wolf a leetle furder off, an’ Brer Fox at a p’int whar de cross-roads wuz. Brer Coon an’ Brer Possum an’ de yuthers be scattered about up an’ down de Road.
“Ter dem what has ter wait, it seem like de sun stops an’ all de clocks wid ’im. Brer B’ar done some growlin’; Brer Wolf some howlin’ an’ Brer Possum some laughin’; but atter while a cloud come up fum some’rs. ’Twant sech a big cloud, but Brer Rabbit know’d dat Cousin Rain wuz in dar ’long wid Uncle Win’. De cloud crope up, it did, twel it got right over de big road, an’ den it kinder drapped down a leetle closer ter de groun’. It look like it kinder stop, like a buggy, fer Cousin Rain ter git out, so der’d be a fa’r start. Well, he got out, kaze de creeturs kin see ’im, an’ den Uncle Win’, he got out.
“An’ den, gentermens! de race begun fer ter commence. Uncle Win’ hep’d um bofe; he had his bellows wid ’im, an’ he blow’d it! Brer Dust got up fum whar he wuz a-layin’ at, an’ come down de road des a-whirlin’. He stricken ol’ Brer B’ar fust, den Brer Wolf, an’ den Brer Fox, an’ atter dat, all de yuther creeturs, an’ it come mighty nigh smifflicatin’ um! Not never in all yo’ born days is you y’ever heern sech coughin’ an’ sneezin’, sech snortin’ an’ wheezin’! An’ dey all look like dey wuz painted red. Brer B’ar sneeze so hard dat he hatter lay down in de road, an’ Brer Dust come mighty nigh buryin’ ’im, an’ ’twuz de same wid de yuther creeturs—dey got der y’ears, der noses, an’ der eyeses full.
“An’ den Cousin Rain come ’long, a-pursuin’ Brer Dust, an’ he come mighty nigh drownin’ um. He left um kivver’d wid mud, an’ dey wuz wuss off dan befo’. It wuz de longest ’fo’ dey kin git de mud out ’n der eyes an’ y’ears, an’ when dey git so dey kin see a leetle bit, dey tuck notice dat Brer Rabbit, stidder bein’ full er mud, wuz ez dry ez a chip, ef not dryer.
“It make um so mad, dat dey all put out atter ’im, an’ try der level best fer ter ketch, but ef dey wuz anything in de roun’ worl’ dat Brer Rabbit’s got, it’s soople foots, an’ ’twant no time ’fo’ de yuther creeturs can’t see ha’r ner hide un ’im! All de same Brer Rabbit aint bargain fer ter have two races de same day.”
“But, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, “which beat, Brother Dust or Cousin Rain?” The old man stirred uneasily in his chair, and rubbed his chin with his hand. “Dey tells me,” he responded cautiously, “dat when Cousin Rain can’t see nothin’ er Brother Dust, he thunk he am beat, but he holla out, ‘Brer Dust, wharbouts is you?’ an’ Brer Dust he holla back, ‘You’ll hatter scuzen me; I fell down in de mud an’ can’t run no mo’!’”
One sultry summer day, while the little boy was playing not far from Uncle Remus’s cabin, a heavy black cloud made its appearance in the west, and quickly obscured the sky. It sent a brisk gale before it, as if to clear the path of leaves and dust. Presently there was a blinding flash of lightning, a snap and a crash, and, with that, the child took to his heels, and ran to Uncle Remus, who was standing in his door. “Dar now!” he exclaimed, before the echoes of the thunder had rolled away, “Dat dust an’ win’, an’ rain, puts me in mind er de time when ol’ Brer Rabbit got up a big race fer ter pleasure de yuther creeturs. It wuz de mos’ funniest race you ever hear tell on. Brer Rabbit went ’way off in de woods twel he come ter de Rainmaker’s house. He knocked an’ went in, an’ he ax de Rainmaker ef he can’t fix it up so dey kin have a race ’tween Brer Dust an’ Cousin Rain, fer ter see which kin run de fastes’. De Rainmaker growled an’ jowered, but bimeby he ’gree, but he say that ef ’twuz anybody but Brer Rabbit, he wouldn’t gi’ it but one thunk.
“Well, dey fix de day, dey did, an’ den Brer Rabbit put out ter whar de creeturs wuz stayin’ at, an’ tol’ um de news. Dey dunner how Brer Rabbit know, but dey all wanter see de race. Now, him an’ de Rainmaker had fixt it up so dat de race would be right down de middle er de big road, an’ when de day come, dar’s whar he made de creeturs stan’—Brer B’ar at de bend er de road, Brer Wolf a leetle furder off, an’ Brer Fox at a p’int whar de cross-roads wuz. Brer Coon an’ Brer Possum an’ de yuthers be scattered about up an’ down de Road.
“Ter dem what has ter wait, it seem like de sun stops an’ all de clocks wid ’im. Brer B’ar done some growlin’; Brer Wolf some howlin’ an’ Brer Possum some laughin’; but atter while a cloud come up fum some’rs. ’Twant sech a big cloud, but Brer Rabbit know’d dat Cousin Rain wuz in dar ’long wid Uncle Win’. De cloud crope up, it did, twel it got right over de big road, an’ den it kinder drapped down a leetle closer ter de groun’. It look like it kinder stop, like a buggy, fer Cousin Rain ter git out, so der’d be a fa’r start. Well, he got out, kaze de creeturs kin see ’im, an’ den Uncle Win’, he got out.
“An’ den, gentermens! de race begun fer ter commence. Uncle Win’ hep’d um bofe; he had his bellows wid ’im, an’ he blow’d it! Brer Dust got up fum whar he wuz a-layin’ at, an’ come down de road des a-whirlin’. He stricken ol’ Brer B’ar fust, den Brer Wolf, an’ den Brer Fox, an’ atter dat, all de yuther creeturs, an’ it come mighty nigh smifflicatin’ um! Not never in all yo’ born days is you y’ever heern sech coughin’ an’ sneezin’, sech snortin’ an’ wheezin’! An’ dey all look like dey wuz painted red. Brer B’ar sneeze so hard dat he hatter lay down in de road, an’ Brer Dust come mighty nigh buryin’ ’im, an’ ’twuz de same wid de yuther creeturs—dey got der y’ears, der noses, an’ der eyeses full.
“An’ den Cousin Rain come ’long, a-pursuin’ Brer Dust, an’ he come mighty nigh drownin’ um. He left um kivver’d wid mud, an’ dey wuz wuss off dan befo’. It wuz de longest ’fo’ dey kin git de mud out ’n der eyes an’ y’ears, an’ when dey git so dey kin see a leetle bit, dey tuck notice dat Brer Rabbit, stidder bein’ full er mud, wuz ez dry ez a chip, ef not dryer.
“It make um so mad, dat dey all put out atter ’im, an’ try der level best fer ter ketch, but ef dey wuz anything in de roun’ worl’ dat Brer Rabbit’s got, it’s soople foots, an’ ’twant no time ’fo’ de yuther creeturs can’t see ha’r ner hide un ’im! All de same Brer Rabbit aint bargain fer ter have two races de same day.”
“But, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, “which beat, Brother Dust or Cousin Rain?” The old man stirred uneasily in his chair, and rubbed his chin with his hand. “Dey tells me,” he responded cautiously, “dat when Cousin Rain can’t see nothin’ er Brother Dust, he thunk he am beat, but he holla out, ‘Brer Dust, wharbouts is you?’ an’ Brer Dust he holla back, ‘You’ll hatter scuzen me; I fell down in de mud an’ can’t run no mo’!’”
C163. Brother Bear's Big House (original spelling)
3. Brother Bear's Big House. Text Source: Uncle Remus and Brer Rabbit by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. You can click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.
“Uv all de creeturs”, said Uncle Remus, in response to a questioning took on the part of the little boy, “ol Brer B’ar had de biggest an’ de warmest house. I dunner why ner wharfo’, but I’m a-tellin’ you de plain fack, des ez dey to!’ it unter me. Ef I kin he’p it I never will be deceivin’ you, ner lead you inter no bad habits. Yo’ pappy trotted wid me a mighty long time, an’ ef you’ll ax him he’ll tell you dat de one thing I never did do wuz ter deceive him whiles he had his eyes open; not ef I knows myse’f. Well, ol’ Brer B’ar had de big house I’m a-tellin’ you about. Ef he y’ever is brag un it, it aint never come down ter me. Yit dat’s des what he had—a big house an’ plenty er room fer him an’ his fambly; an’ he aint had mo’ dan he need, kaze all er his fambly wuz fat an’ had what folks calls heft—de nachal plunkness.
“He had a son name Simmon, an’ a gal name Sue, not countin’ his ol’ ’oman, an’ dey all live wid one an’er day atter day, an’ night atter night; an’ when one un um went abroad, dey’d be spected home ’bout meal-time, ef not befo’, an’ dey segashuated right along fum day ter day, washin’ der face an’ han’s in de same wash-pan in de back po’ch, an’ wipin’ on de same towel same ez all happy famblies allers does.
“Well, time went on an’ fotched de changes dat might be spected, an’ one day dar come a mighty knockin’ on Brer B’ar’s do’. Brer B’ar, he holla out, he did. ‘Who dat come a-knockin’ dis time er de year, ’fo’ de corn’s done planted, er de cotton-crap’s pitched?’ De one at de do’ make a big noise, an’ rattle de hinges. Brer B’ar holla out, he did, ‘Don’t t’ar down my house! Who is you, anyhow, an’ what you want?’ An’ de answer come, ‘I’m one an’ darfo’ not two; ef youer mo’ dan one, who is you an’ what you doin’ in dar?’ Brer B’ar, he say, sezee, ‘I’m all er one an’ mighty nigh two, but I’d thank you fer ter tell me yo’ full fambly name.’ Den de answer come.
“‘I’m de knocker an’ de mover bofe, an’ ef I can’t clim’ over I’ll crawl under ef you do but gi’ me de word. Some calls me Brer Polecat, an’ some a big word dat it aint wuff while ter ermember, but I wanter move in. It’s mighty col’ out here, an’ all I meets tells me it’s mighty warm in dar whar you is.’ Den ol’ Brer B’ar say, sezee. ‘It’s warm nuff fer dem what stays in here, but not nigh so warm fer dem on de outside. What does you reely want?’ Brer Polecat ’spon’, he did, ‘I wants a heap er things dat I don’t git. I’m a mighty good housekeeper, but I takes notice dat dar’s mighty few folks dat wants me ter keep house fer um.’ Brer B’ar say, sezee, ‘I aint got no room fer no housekeeper; we aint skacely got room fer ter go ter bed. Ef you kin keep my house on de outside, you er mighty welcome.’
“Brer Polecat say, ‘You may think you aint got no room, but I bet you got des ez much room ez anybody what I know. Ef you let me in dar one time, I boun’ you I’ll make all de room I want.’”
Uncle Remus paused to see what effect this statement would have on the little boy. He closed his eyes, as though he were tired, but when he opened them again, he saw the faint shadow of a smile on the child’s face. “’Taint gwine ter hurt you fer ter laugh a little bit, honey. Brer Polecat come in Brer B’ar’s house, an’ he had sech a bad breff dat dey all hatter git out—an’ he stayed an’ stayed twel time stopped runnin’ ag’in’ him.”
“Uv all de creeturs”, said Uncle Remus, in response to a questioning took on the part of the little boy, “ol Brer B’ar had de biggest an’ de warmest house. I dunner why ner wharfo’, but I’m a-tellin’ you de plain fack, des ez dey to!’ it unter me. Ef I kin he’p it I never will be deceivin’ you, ner lead you inter no bad habits. Yo’ pappy trotted wid me a mighty long time, an’ ef you’ll ax him he’ll tell you dat de one thing I never did do wuz ter deceive him whiles he had his eyes open; not ef I knows myse’f. Well, ol’ Brer B’ar had de big house I’m a-tellin’ you about. Ef he y’ever is brag un it, it aint never come down ter me. Yit dat’s des what he had—a big house an’ plenty er room fer him an’ his fambly; an’ he aint had mo’ dan he need, kaze all er his fambly wuz fat an’ had what folks calls heft—de nachal plunkness.
“He had a son name Simmon, an’ a gal name Sue, not countin’ his ol’ ’oman, an’ dey all live wid one an’er day atter day, an’ night atter night; an’ when one un um went abroad, dey’d be spected home ’bout meal-time, ef not befo’, an’ dey segashuated right along fum day ter day, washin’ der face an’ han’s in de same wash-pan in de back po’ch, an’ wipin’ on de same towel same ez all happy famblies allers does.
“Well, time went on an’ fotched de changes dat might be spected, an’ one day dar come a mighty knockin’ on Brer B’ar’s do’. Brer B’ar, he holla out, he did. ‘Who dat come a-knockin’ dis time er de year, ’fo’ de corn’s done planted, er de cotton-crap’s pitched?’ De one at de do’ make a big noise, an’ rattle de hinges. Brer B’ar holla out, he did, ‘Don’t t’ar down my house! Who is you, anyhow, an’ what you want?’ An’ de answer come, ‘I’m one an’ darfo’ not two; ef youer mo’ dan one, who is you an’ what you doin’ in dar?’ Brer B’ar, he say, sezee, ‘I’m all er one an’ mighty nigh two, but I’d thank you fer ter tell me yo’ full fambly name.’ Den de answer come.
“‘I’m de knocker an’ de mover bofe, an’ ef I can’t clim’ over I’ll crawl under ef you do but gi’ me de word. Some calls me Brer Polecat, an’ some a big word dat it aint wuff while ter ermember, but I wanter move in. It’s mighty col’ out here, an’ all I meets tells me it’s mighty warm in dar whar you is.’ Den ol’ Brer B’ar say, sezee. ‘It’s warm nuff fer dem what stays in here, but not nigh so warm fer dem on de outside. What does you reely want?’ Brer Polecat ’spon’, he did, ‘I wants a heap er things dat I don’t git. I’m a mighty good housekeeper, but I takes notice dat dar’s mighty few folks dat wants me ter keep house fer um.’ Brer B’ar say, sezee, ‘I aint got no room fer no housekeeper; we aint skacely got room fer ter go ter bed. Ef you kin keep my house on de outside, you er mighty welcome.’
“Brer Polecat say, ‘You may think you aint got no room, but I bet you got des ez much room ez anybody what I know. Ef you let me in dar one time, I boun’ you I’ll make all de room I want.’”
Uncle Remus paused to see what effect this statement would have on the little boy. He closed his eyes, as though he were tired, but when he opened them again, he saw the faint shadow of a smile on the child’s face. “’Taint gwine ter hurt you fer ter laugh a little bit, honey. Brer Polecat come in Brer B’ar’s house, an’ he had sech a bad breff dat dey all hatter git out—an’ he stayed an’ stayed twel time stopped runnin’ ag’in’ him.”
C162. Brother Rabbit's Frolic (original spelling)
2. Brother Rabbit's Frolic. Text Source: Uncle Remus and Brer Rabbit by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. You can click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.
Brer Rabbit had a mighty quick thinkin’ apple-ratus, an’ mos’ inginner’lly, all de time, de pranks he played on de yuther creeturs pestered um bofe ways a-comin’ an’ a-gwine. De dogs done mighty well, ’long ez dey had dealin’s wid de small fry, like Brer Fox, an’ Brer Coon, an’ Brer Wolf, but when dey run ag’in’ ol’ Brer B’ar, dey sho struck a snag. De mos’ servigrous wuz de identual one dat got de wust hurted. He got too close ter Brer B’ar, an’ when he look at hisse’f in runnin’ water, he tuck notice dat he wuz split wide open fum flank ter dewlap.
Atter de rucus wuz over, de creeturs hobbled off home de best dey could, an’ laid ’roun’ in sun an’ shade fer ter let der cuts an’ gashes git good an’ well. When dey got so dey could segashuate, an’ pay der party calls, dey ’gree fer ter insemble some’rs, an’ hit on some plan fer ter outdo Brer Rabbit.
Well, dey had der insembly, an’ dey jower’d an’ jower’d des like yo’ pa do when he aint feelin’ right well; but, bimeby, dey ’greed ’pon a plan dat look like it mought work. Dey ’gree fer ter make out dat dey gwine ter have a dance. Dey know’d dat ol’ Brer Rabbit wuz allers keen fer dat, an’ dey say dey’ll gi’ him a invite, an’ when he got dar, dey’d ax ’im fer ter play de fiddle, an’ ef he ’fuse, dey’ll close in on ’im an’ make way wid ’im.
So fur, so good! But all de time dey wuz jowerin’ an’ confabbin’, ol’ Brer Rabbit wus settin’ in a shady place in de grass, a-hearin’ eve’y word dey say. When de time come, he crope out, he did, an’ run ’roun’, an’ de fust news dey know’d, here he come down de big road—bookity-bookity—same ez a hoss dat’s broke thoo de pastur’ fence.
He say, sezee, "Why, hello, frien’s! an’ howdy, too, kaze I aint seed you-all sence de last time! Whar de name er goodness is you been deze odd-come-shorts? an’ how did you far’ at de bobbycue? Ef my two eyeballs aint gone an’ got crooked, dar’s ol’ Brer B’ar, him er de short tail an’ sharp tush—de ve’y one I’m a-huntin’ fer! An’ dar’s Brer Coon! I sho is in big luck. Dar’s gwineter be a big frolic at Miss Meadows’, an’ her an’ de gals want Brer B’ar fer ter show um de roas’n’-y’ar shuffle; an’ dey put Brer Coon down fer de jig dey calls rack-back-Davy. I’m ter play de fiddle—sump’n I aint done sence my oldest gal had de mumps an’ de measles, bofe de same day an’ hour! Well, dis mornin’ I tuck down de fiddle fum whar she wuz a-hangin’ at, an’ draw’d de bow backerds an’ forerds a time er two, an’ den I shot my eyes an’ hit some er de ol’-time chunes, an’ when I come ter myse’f, dar wuz my whole blessed fambly skippin’ an’ sasshayin’ ’roun’ de room, spite er de fack dat brekkus wuz ter be cooked!"
Wid dat, Brer Rabbit bow’d, he did, an’ went back down de road like de dogs wuz atter ’im.”
De creeturs aint had no dance, an’ when dey went ter Miss Meadows’, she put her head out de winder, an’ say ef dey don’t go off fum dar she’ll have de law on um!
Brer Rabbit had a mighty quick thinkin’ apple-ratus, an’ mos’ inginner’lly, all de time, de pranks he played on de yuther creeturs pestered um bofe ways a-comin’ an’ a-gwine. De dogs done mighty well, ’long ez dey had dealin’s wid de small fry, like Brer Fox, an’ Brer Coon, an’ Brer Wolf, but when dey run ag’in’ ol’ Brer B’ar, dey sho struck a snag. De mos’ servigrous wuz de identual one dat got de wust hurted. He got too close ter Brer B’ar, an’ when he look at hisse’f in runnin’ water, he tuck notice dat he wuz split wide open fum flank ter dewlap.
Atter de rucus wuz over, de creeturs hobbled off home de best dey could, an’ laid ’roun’ in sun an’ shade fer ter let der cuts an’ gashes git good an’ well. When dey got so dey could segashuate, an’ pay der party calls, dey ’gree fer ter insemble some’rs, an’ hit on some plan fer ter outdo Brer Rabbit.
Well, dey had der insembly, an’ dey jower’d an’ jower’d des like yo’ pa do when he aint feelin’ right well; but, bimeby, dey ’greed ’pon a plan dat look like it mought work. Dey ’gree fer ter make out dat dey gwine ter have a dance. Dey know’d dat ol’ Brer Rabbit wuz allers keen fer dat, an’ dey say dey’ll gi’ him a invite, an’ when he got dar, dey’d ax ’im fer ter play de fiddle, an’ ef he ’fuse, dey’ll close in on ’im an’ make way wid ’im.
So fur, so good! But all de time dey wuz jowerin’ an’ confabbin’, ol’ Brer Rabbit wus settin’ in a shady place in de grass, a-hearin’ eve’y word dey say. When de time come, he crope out, he did, an’ run ’roun’, an’ de fust news dey know’d, here he come down de big road—bookity-bookity—same ez a hoss dat’s broke thoo de pastur’ fence.
He say, sezee, "Why, hello, frien’s! an’ howdy, too, kaze I aint seed you-all sence de last time! Whar de name er goodness is you been deze odd-come-shorts? an’ how did you far’ at de bobbycue? Ef my two eyeballs aint gone an’ got crooked, dar’s ol’ Brer B’ar, him er de short tail an’ sharp tush—de ve’y one I’m a-huntin’ fer! An’ dar’s Brer Coon! I sho is in big luck. Dar’s gwineter be a big frolic at Miss Meadows’, an’ her an’ de gals want Brer B’ar fer ter show um de roas’n’-y’ar shuffle; an’ dey put Brer Coon down fer de jig dey calls rack-back-Davy. I’m ter play de fiddle—sump’n I aint done sence my oldest gal had de mumps an’ de measles, bofe de same day an’ hour! Well, dis mornin’ I tuck down de fiddle fum whar she wuz a-hangin’ at, an’ draw’d de bow backerds an’ forerds a time er two, an’ den I shot my eyes an’ hit some er de ol’-time chunes, an’ when I come ter myse’f, dar wuz my whole blessed fambly skippin’ an’ sasshayin’ ’roun’ de room, spite er de fack dat brekkus wuz ter be cooked!"
Wid dat, Brer Rabbit bow’d, he did, an’ went back down de road like de dogs wuz atter ’im.”
De creeturs aint had no dance, an’ when dey went ter Miss Meadows’, she put her head out de winder, an’ say ef dey don’t go off fum dar she’ll have de law on um!
C161. The Creeturs Go to the Barbecue (original spelling)
1. The Creeturs Go to the Barbecue. Text Source: Uncle Remus and Brer Rabbit by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. You can click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.
“Once ’pon a time,” said Uncle Remus to the little boy—“But when was once upon a time?” the child interrupted to ask. The old man smiled. “I speck ’twuz one time er two times, er maybe a time an’ a half. You know when Johnny Ashcake ’gun ter bake? Well, ’twuz ’long in dem days. Once ’pon a time,” he resumed, “Mr. Man had a gyarden so fine dat all de neighbors come ter see it. Some ’ud look at it over de fence, some ’ud peep thoo de cracks, an’ some ’ud come an’ look at it by de light er de stars. An’ one un um wuz ol’ Brer Rabbit; starlight, moonlight, cloudlight, de nightlight wuz de light fer him. When de turn er de mornin’ come, he ’uz allers up an’ about, an’ a-feelin’ purty well I thank you, suh!
“Now, den, you done hear what I say. Dar wuz Mr. Man, yander wuz de gyarden, an’ here wuz ol’ Brer Rabbit.” Uncle Remus made a map of this part of the story by marking in the sand with his walking-cane. “Well, dis bein’ de case, what you speck gwineter happen? Nothin’ in de roun’ worl’ but what been happenin’ sence greens an’ sparrer-grass wuz planted in de groun’. Dey look fine an’ dey tas’e fine, an’ long to’rds de shank er de mornin’, Brer Rabbit ’ud creep thoo de crack er de fence an’ nibble at um. He’d take de greens, but leave his tracks, mo’ speshually right atter a rain. Takin’ an’ leavin’—it’s de way er de worl’.
“Well, one mornin’, Mr. Man went out in his truck patch, an’ he fin’ sump’n missin’—a cabbage here, a turnip dar, an’ a mess er beans yander, an’ he ax how come dis? He look ’roun’, he did, an’ he seed Brer Rabbit’s tracks what he couldn’t take wid ’im. Brer Rabbit had lef’ his shoes at home, an’ come bar’footed.
“So Mr. Man, he call his dogs ‘Here, Buck! Here, Brinjer! Here, Blue!’ an’ he sicc’d um on de track, an’ here dey went!
“You’d ’a’ thunk dey wuz runnin’ atter forty-lev’m rhinossyhosses fum de fuss dey made. Brer Rabbit he hear um comin’ an’ he put out fer home, kinder doublin’ ’roun’ des like he do deze days.
“When he got ter de p’int whar he kin set down fer ter rest his face an’ han’s, he tuck a poplar leaf an’ ’gun ter fan hisse’f. Den Brer Fox come a-trottin’ up. He say, ‘Brer Rabbit, what’s all dis fuss I hear in de woods? What de name er goodness do it mean?’ Brer Rabbit kinder scratch his head an’ ’low, ‘Why, deyer tryin’ fer drive me ter de big bobbycue on de creek. Dey all ax me, an’ when I ’fuse dey say deyer gwine ter make me go any how. Dey aint no fun in bein’ ez populous ez what I is, Brer Fox. Ef you wanter go, des git in ahead er de houn’s an’ go lickity-split down de big road!’
“Brer Fox roll his little eyes, an’ lick his chops whar he dribble at de mouf, an put out ter de bobbycue, an’ he aint mo’ dan made his disappearance, ’fo’ here come Brer Wolf, an’ when he got de news, off he put.
“An’ he aint mo’n got out’n sight, ’fo’ here come ol’ Brer B’ar, an’ when he hear talk er de bakin’ meat an’ de big pan er gravy, he sot up on his behime legs an’ snored. Den off he put, an’ he aint got out’n hearin’, ’fo’ Brer Coon come rackin’ up, an’ when he got de news, he put out.
“So dar dey wuz an’ what you gwine do ’bout it? It seem like dey all got in front er de dogs, er de dogs got behime um, an’ Brer Rabbit sot by de creek-side laughin’ an’ hittin’ at de snake doctors. An’ dem po’ creeturs had ter go clean past de bobbycue—ef dey wuz any bobbycue, which I don’t skacely speck dey wuz. Dat what make me say what I does—when you git a invite ter a bobbycue, you better fin’ out when an’ whar it’s at, an’ who runnin’ it.”
“Once ’pon a time,” said Uncle Remus to the little boy—“But when was once upon a time?” the child interrupted to ask. The old man smiled. “I speck ’twuz one time er two times, er maybe a time an’ a half. You know when Johnny Ashcake ’gun ter bake? Well, ’twuz ’long in dem days. Once ’pon a time,” he resumed, “Mr. Man had a gyarden so fine dat all de neighbors come ter see it. Some ’ud look at it over de fence, some ’ud peep thoo de cracks, an’ some ’ud come an’ look at it by de light er de stars. An’ one un um wuz ol’ Brer Rabbit; starlight, moonlight, cloudlight, de nightlight wuz de light fer him. When de turn er de mornin’ come, he ’uz allers up an’ about, an’ a-feelin’ purty well I thank you, suh!
“Now, den, you done hear what I say. Dar wuz Mr. Man, yander wuz de gyarden, an’ here wuz ol’ Brer Rabbit.” Uncle Remus made a map of this part of the story by marking in the sand with his walking-cane. “Well, dis bein’ de case, what you speck gwineter happen? Nothin’ in de roun’ worl’ but what been happenin’ sence greens an’ sparrer-grass wuz planted in de groun’. Dey look fine an’ dey tas’e fine, an’ long to’rds de shank er de mornin’, Brer Rabbit ’ud creep thoo de crack er de fence an’ nibble at um. He’d take de greens, but leave his tracks, mo’ speshually right atter a rain. Takin’ an’ leavin’—it’s de way er de worl’.
“Well, one mornin’, Mr. Man went out in his truck patch, an’ he fin’ sump’n missin’—a cabbage here, a turnip dar, an’ a mess er beans yander, an’ he ax how come dis? He look ’roun’, he did, an’ he seed Brer Rabbit’s tracks what he couldn’t take wid ’im. Brer Rabbit had lef’ his shoes at home, an’ come bar’footed.
“So Mr. Man, he call his dogs ‘Here, Buck! Here, Brinjer! Here, Blue!’ an’ he sicc’d um on de track, an’ here dey went!
“You’d ’a’ thunk dey wuz runnin’ atter forty-lev’m rhinossyhosses fum de fuss dey made. Brer Rabbit he hear um comin’ an’ he put out fer home, kinder doublin’ ’roun’ des like he do deze days.
“When he got ter de p’int whar he kin set down fer ter rest his face an’ han’s, he tuck a poplar leaf an’ ’gun ter fan hisse’f. Den Brer Fox come a-trottin’ up. He say, ‘Brer Rabbit, what’s all dis fuss I hear in de woods? What de name er goodness do it mean?’ Brer Rabbit kinder scratch his head an’ ’low, ‘Why, deyer tryin’ fer drive me ter de big bobbycue on de creek. Dey all ax me, an’ when I ’fuse dey say deyer gwine ter make me go any how. Dey aint no fun in bein’ ez populous ez what I is, Brer Fox. Ef you wanter go, des git in ahead er de houn’s an’ go lickity-split down de big road!’
“Brer Fox roll his little eyes, an’ lick his chops whar he dribble at de mouf, an put out ter de bobbycue, an’ he aint mo’ dan made his disappearance, ’fo’ here come Brer Wolf, an’ when he got de news, off he put.
“An’ he aint mo’n got out’n sight, ’fo’ here come ol’ Brer B’ar, an’ when he hear talk er de bakin’ meat an’ de big pan er gravy, he sot up on his behime legs an’ snored. Den off he put, an’ he aint got out’n hearin’, ’fo’ Brer Coon come rackin’ up, an’ when he got de news, he put out.
“So dar dey wuz an’ what you gwine do ’bout it? It seem like dey all got in front er de dogs, er de dogs got behime um, an’ Brer Rabbit sot by de creek-side laughin’ an’ hittin’ at de snake doctors. An’ dem po’ creeturs had ter go clean past de bobbycue—ef dey wuz any bobbycue, which I don’t skacely speck dey wuz. Dat what make me say what I does—when you git a invite ter a bobbycue, you better fin’ out when an’ whar it’s at, an’ who runnin’ it.”
C160. The Hard-Headed Woman (original spelling)
16. The Hard-Headed Woman. Text Source: Told by Uncle Remus by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. You can click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.
Uncle Remus had observed a disposition on the part of the little boy to experiment somewhat with his elders. The child had come down to the plantation from the city such a model youngster that those who took an interest in his behavior, and who were themselves living the free and easy life possible only in the country places, were inclined to believe that he had been unduly repressed. This was particularly the case with the little fellow’s grandmother, who was aided and abetted by Uncle Remus himself, with the result that the youngster was allowed liberties he had never had before. The child, as might be supposed, was quick to take advantage of such a situation, and was all the time trying to see how far he could go before the limits of his privileges—new[277] and inviting so far as he was concerned—would be reached. They stretched very much farther on the plantation than they would have done in the city, as was natural and proper, but the child, with that adventurous spirit common to boys, was inclined to push them still farther than they had ever yet gone; and he soon lost the most obvious characteristics of a model lad.
Little by little he had pushed his liberties, the mother hesitating to bring him to task for fear of offending the grandmother, whose guest she was, and the grandmother not daring to interfere, for the reason that it was at her suggestion, implied rather than direct, that the mother had relaxed her somewhat rigid discipline. It was natural, under the circumstances, that the little fellow should become somewhat wilful and obstinate, and he bade fair to develop that spirit of disobedience that will make the brightest child ugly and discontented.
Uncle Remus, as has been said, observed all these symptoms, and while he had been the first to deplore the system that seemed to take all[278] the individuality out of the little fellow, he soon became painfully aware that something would have to be done to renew the discipline that had been so efficacious when the mother was where she felt free to exercise her whole influence.
“You ain’t sick, is you, honey?” the old man inquired one day in an insinuating tone. “Kaze ef you is, you better run back ter de house an’ let de white folks dose you up. Yo’ mammy knows des ’zackly de kinder physic you need, an’ how much, an’ ef I ain’t mighty much mistooken, ’twon’t be so mighty long ’fo’ she’ll take you in han’.” The child looked up quickly to see whether Uncle Remus was in earnest, but he could find nothing in that solemn countenance that at all resembled playfulness. “You may be well,” the old man went on, “but dey’s one thing certain an’ sho’—you don’t look like you did when you come ter we-all’s house, an’ you don’t do like you done. You may look at me ef you wanter, but I’m a-tellin’ you de fatal trufe, kaze you ain’t no mo’ de same chil’ what useter ’ten’ ter his own business[279] all day an’ night—you ain’t no mo’ de same chil’ dan I’m dat ol’ hen out dar. I ’low’d I mought be mistooken, but I hear yo’ granny an’ yo’ mammy talkin’ t’er night atter you done gone ter bed, an’ de talk dat dey talked sho’ did open my eyes, kaze I never spected fer ter hear talk like dat.”
For a long time the little boy said nothing, but finally he inquired what Uncle Remus had heard. “I ain’t no eavesdrapper,” the old man replied, “but I hear ’nough fer ter last me whiles you stay wid us. I dunner how long dat’ll be, but I don’t speck it’ll be long. Now des look at you! Dar you is fumblin’ wid my shoe knife, an’ mos’ ’fo’ you know it one een’ er yo’ finger will be down dar on de flo’, an’ you’ll be a-squallin’ like somebody done killt you. Put it right back whar you got it fum. Why n’t you put it down when I ax you?—an’ don’t scatter my pegs! Put down dat awl! You’ll stob yo’se’f right in de vitals, an’ den Miss Sally will blame me. Laws-a-massy! take yo’ han’ outer dat peg box! You’ll git um all over de flo’, an’ dey’ll drap thoo de cracks. I be boun’ ef I take my foot in my han’, an’ go up yan’[280] an’ tell yo’ mammy how good you is, she’ll make you take off yo’ cloze an’ go ter bed—dat’s des ’zackly what she’ll do. An’ dar you is foolin’ wid my fillin’s!—an’, bless gracious, ef you ain’t settin’ right flat-footed on my shoemaker’s wax, an’ it right saft! I’ll hatter ax yo’ mammy ter please’m not let you come down here no mo’ twel de day you start home!”
“I think you are very cross,” complained the child. “I never heard you talk that way before. And grandmother is getting so she isn’t as nice as she used to be.”
“Ah-yi!” exclaimed Uncle Remus in a triumphant tone. “I know’d it! you done got so dat you won’t do a blessed thing dat anybody ax you ter do. You done got a new name, an’ ’tain’t so new but what I can put bofe han’s behime one, an’ shet my eyes an’ call it out. Eve’ybody on de place know what ’tis, an’ I hear de ol’ red rooster callin’ it out de yuther day when you wuz chunkin’ at ’im.” At once the little boy manifested interest in what the old negro was saying, and when he looked up, curiosity shone in his eyes.[281] “What did the rooster say my name is, Uncle Remus?”
“Why, when you wuz atter him, he flew’d up on de lot fence, an’ he ’low, ‘Mr. Hardhead! Mr. Hardhead!’ an’ dat sho’ is yo’ name. You kin squirm, an’ frown, an’ twis’, but dat rooster is sho’ got yo’ name down fine. Ef he’d ’a’ des named you once, maybe folks would ’a’ fergot it off’n der min’, but he call de name twice des ez plain ez he kin speak, an’ dar you sets wid Mr. Hardhead writ on you des ez plain ez ef de rooster had a put it on you wid a paint-brush. You can’t rub it off an’ you can’t walk roun’ it.”
“But what must I do, Uncle Remus?”
“Des set still a minnit, an’ try ter be good. It may th’ow you in a high fever fer ter keep yo’ han’s outer my things, er it may gi’ you a agur fer ter be like you useter be, but it’ll pay you in de long run; it mos’ sholy will.”
“Well, if you want me to be quiet,” said the child, “you’ll have to tell me a tale.”
“Ef you sit still too long, honey, I’m afeard de creeturs on de plantation will git de idee dat[282] sump’n done happen. Dar’s de ol’ sow—you ain’t run her roun’ de place in de last ten minnits er sech a matter; an’ dar’s de calf, an’ de chickens, an’ de Guinny hens, an’ de ol’ gray gooses—dey’ll git de idee dat you done broke yo’ leg er yo’ arm; an’ dey’ll be fixin’ up fer ter have a frolic if dey miss you fer longer dan fifteen minnits an’ a half. How you gwineter have any fun ef you set an’ lissen ter a tale stidder chunkin’ an’ runnin’ de creeturs? I mos’ know you er ailin’ an’ by good rights de doctor oughter come an’ look at you.”
The little boy laughed uneasily. He was not the first that had been sobered by the irony of Uncle Remus, which, crude though it was, was much more effective than downright quarreling. “Yasser!” Uncle Remus repeated, “de doctor oughter come an’ look at you—an’ when I say doctor, I mean doctor, an’ not one er deze yer kin’ what goes roun’ wid a whole passel er pills what ain’t bigger dan a gnat’s heart. What you want is a great big double-j’inted doctor wid a big black beard an’ specks on, what’ll fill you full er de[283] rankest kin’ er physic. Ez you look now, you put me in min’ er de ’oman an’ de dinner-pot; dey ain’t no two ways ’bout dat.”
“If it is a tale, please tell it, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy.
“Oh, it sho is a tale all right!” exclaimed the old man, “but you ain’t no mo’ got time fer ter hear it dan de birds in de tree. You’d hatter set still an’ lissen, an’ dat ’ud put you out a whole lot, kaze dar’s de chickens ter be chunked, an’ de pigs ter be crippled an’ a whole lot er yuther things fer ter be did, an’ dey ain’t nobody else in de roun’ worl’ dat kin do it ez good ez you kin. Well, you kin git up an’ mosey long ef you wanter, but I’m gwineter tell dish yer tale ef I hatter r’ar my head back an’ shet my eyeballs an’ tell it ter myse’f fer ter see ef I done fergit it off’n my min’.
“Well, once ’pon a time—it mought ’a’ been in de year One fer all I know—dey wuz a ’oman dat live in a little cabin in de woods not so mighty fur fum water. Now, dis ’oman an’ dis cabin mought ’a’ been in de Nunited State er Georgy,[284] er dey mought ’a’ been in de Nunited State er Yallerbammer—you kin put um whar you please des like I does. But at one place er de yuther, an’ at one time er nuther, dis ’oman live dar des like I’m a-tellin’ you. She live dar, she did, an’ fus’ an’ las’ dey wuz a mighty heap er talk about her. Some say she wuz black, some say she wuz mighty nigh white, an’ some say she wa’n’t ez black ez she mought be; but dem what know’d, dey say she wuz nine parts Injun an’ one part human, an’ I speck dat’s des ez close ter trufe ez we kin git in dis kinder wedder ef we gwineter keep cool.
“Fum all I kin hear—an’ I been keepin’ bofe years wide open, she wuz a monstus busy ’oman, kaze it wuz de talk ’mongst de neighbors dat she done a heap er things what she ain’t got no business ter do. She had a mighty bad temper, an’ her tongue wuz a-runnin’ fum mornin’ twel night. Folks say dat ’twuz long an’ loud an’ mighty well hung. Dey lissen an’ shake der head, an’ atter while word went roun’ dat de ’oman done killt her daughter. Ez ter dat, I ain’t never[285] is hear de rights un it; she mought, an’ den ag’in she moughtn’t—dey ain’t no tellin’—but dey wuz one thing certain an’ sho’ she done so quare, dat folks say she cut up des like a Friday-born fool.
“Her ol’ man, he done de best dat he could. He went ’long an’ ten’ ter his own business, an’ when her tongue ’gun ter clack, he sot down an’ made fish-baskets, an’ ax-helves. But dat ain’t make no diffunce ter de ’oman, kaze she wuz one deze yer kin’ what could quoil all day whedder dey wuz anybody fer ter quoil at er not. She quoiled an’ she quoiled. De man, he ain’t say nothin’ but dis des make her quoil de mo’. He split up kin’lin’ an’ chopped up wood, an’ still she quoil’; he fotch home meal an’ he fotch home meat, but still she quoil’. An’ she ’fuse fer ter cook what he want her to cook; she wuz hard-headed des like you, an’ she’d have her own way ef she died fer it.
“Ef de man, he say, ‘Please ’m cook me some grits,’ she’d whirl in an’ bile greens; ef he ax fer fried meat, she’d bake him a hoe-cake er corn[286] bread. Ef he want roas’ tater she’d bile him a mess er beans, an’ all de time, she’d be givin’ ’im de wuss kinder sass. Oh, she wuz a honey! An’ when it come ter low-down meanness, she wuz rank an’ ripe. She’d take de sparrer-grass what he fotch, an’ kindle de fire wid it. She’d burn de spar’-ribs an’ scorch de tripe, an’ she’d do eve’y kinder way but de right way, an’ dat she wouldn’t do, not ter save yo’ life.
“Den he shuck a gourd-vine flower over de pot”
“Well, dis went on an’ went on, an’ de man ain’t make no complaints; he des watch an’ wait an’ pray. But atter so long a time, he see dat dat ain’t gwine ter do no good, an’ he tuck an’ change his plans. He spit in de ashes, he did, an’ he make a cross-mark, an’ turn roun’ twice so he kin face de sunrise. Den he shuck a gourd-vine flower over de pot, an’ sump’n tol’ ’im fer ter take his res’ an’ wait twel de moon come up. All dis time de ’oman, she wuz a quoilin’, but bimeby, she went on ’bout her business, an’ de man had some peace; but not fer long. He ain’t no more dan had time fer ter put some thunderwood buds an’ some calamus-root in de pot, dan here she come, an’[287] she come a-quoilin’. She come in she did, an’ she slam things roun’ des like you slams de gate.
“Atter kickin’ up a rippet, an’ makin’ de place hot ez she kin, de ’oman made a big fire un’ de pot, an’ flew’d roun’ dar des like she tryin’ fer ter cook a sho’ ’nough supper. She made some dumplin’s an’ flung um in de pot; den she put in some peas an’ big pods er red pepper, an’ on top er all she flung a sheep’s head. De man, he sot dar, an’ look straight at de cross-mark what he done made in de ashes. Atterwhile, he ’gun to smell de calamus-root a-cookin’ an’ he know’d by dat, dat sump’n wuz gwineter happen.
“De pot, it biled, an’ biled, an’ fus’ news you know, de sheep’s head ’gun ter butt de dumplin’s out, an’ de peas, dey flew’d out an’ rattled on de flo’ like a bag er bullets done busted. De ’oman, she run fer ter see what de matter is, an’ when she got close ter de pot de steam fum de thunderwood hit her in de face an’ eyes an’ come mighty nigh takin’ her breff away. Dis kinder stumped ’er fer a minnit, but she had a temper big ’nough fer ter drag a bull down, an’ all she had ter do when she[288] lose her breff wuz ter fling her han’s in de a’r an’ fetch a snort, an’ dar she wuz.
“She moughter been mad befo’, but dis time she wuz mighty nigh plum’ crazy. She look at de pot, an’ she look at her ol’ man; she shot her eyeballs an’ clinched her han’s; she yerked off her head-hankcher, an’ pulled her ha’r loose fum de wroppin’-strings; she stomped her foot, an’ smashed her toofies tergedder.
“She railed at de pot; she ’low, ‘What ail you, you black Dickunce? I b’lieve youer de own brer ter de Ol’ Boy! You been foolin’ wid me fer de longest, an’ I ain’t gwine ter put up wid it! I’m gwineter tame you down!’ Wid dat, she flung off de homespun sack what she been w’arin’ an’ run outer de house an’ got de ax.
“Her ol’ man say, ‘Whar you gwine, honey?’ She ’low, ‘I’m a gwine whar I’m a gwine, dat’s whar I’m a gwine!’ De man, he ain’t spon’ ter dat kinder talk, an’ de ’oman, she went out in back yard fer ter hunt fer de ax. Look like she gwineter keep on gittin’ in trouble, kaze de ax wuz on top er de wood what de man done pile up out dar.[289] It wuz layin’ up dar, de ax wuz, des ez slanchendicklar ez you please, but time it see her comin’——”
“But, Uncle Remus!” the child exclaimed, “how could the ax see her?”
The old negro looked at the little boy with an expression of amazed pity on his face. He looked all around the room and then raised his eyes to the rafters, where a long cobweb was swaying slowly in a breeze so light that nothing else would respond to its invitation. Then he sighed and closed his eyes. “I wish yo’ pa wuz here right now, I mos’ sholy does—yo’ pa, what useter set right whar youer settin’! You done been raised in town whar dey can’t tell a ax fum a wheelbarrer. Ax ain’t got no eye! Well, whoever is hear de beat er dat! Ef anybody else is got dat idee, I’ll be much erbleege ef you’ll show um ter me. Here you is mighty nigh big ’nough fer eat raw tater widout havin’ de doctor called in, an’ a-settin’ dar sayin’ dat axes ain’t got no eyes. Well, you ax yo’ gran’ma when you go back ter de house an’ see what she say.
[290]
“Now, le’ me see; wharbouts wuz I at? Oh, yes! De ax wuz on top er woodpile, an’ when it seed de ’oman comin’, it des turned loose an’ slip down on de yuther side. It wa’n’t tryin’ fer ter show off, like I’ve seed some folks ’fo’ now; it des turned loose eve’ything an’ fell down on de yuther side er de woodpile. An’ whiles de ’oman wuz gwin roun’ atter it, de ax, it clum back on top er de woodpile an’ fell off on t’er side. Dem what handed de tale down ter me ain’t say how long de ’oman an’ de ax keep dis up, but ef a ax is got eyes, it ain’t got but one leg, an’ it must not ’a’ been so mighty long ’fo’ de ’oman cotch up wid it—an’ when she did she wuz so mad dat she could ’a’ bit a railroad track in two, ef dey’d ’a’ been one anywhar’s roun’ dar.
“De ax, it clum back on top er de woodpile an’ fell off on der side”
“Well, she got de ax, an’ it look like she wuz madder dan ever. De man, he say, ‘Better let de pot ’lone, honey; ef you don’t you’ll sholy wish you hadder.’ De ’oman, she squall out, ‘I’ll let you ’lone ef you fool wid me, an’ ef I do you won’t never pester nobody no mo’.’ Man, he say,[291] ‘I’m a-tellin’ you de trufe, honey, an’ dis may be de las’ chance you’ll git ter hear it.’
“De ’oman raise de ax like she gwineter hit de man, an’ den it look like she tuck a n’er notion, an’ she start todes de pot. De man, he ’low, ‘You better hear me, honey! You better drap de ax an’ go out doors an’ cool yo’se’f off, honey!’ It seem like he wuz a mighty saf’-spoken man, wid nice feelin’s fer all. De ’oman, she say, ‘Don’t you dast ter honey me—ef you does I’ll brain you stidder de pot!’ De man smole a long smile an’ shuck his head; he say, ‘All de same, honey, you better pay ’tention ter deze las’ words I’m a-tellin’ you!’
“But de ’oman, she des keep right on. She’d ’a’ gone faster dan what she did, but it look like de ax got heavier eve’y step she tuck—heavier an’ heavier. An’ it look like de house got bigger—bigger an’ bigger; an’ it seem like de do’ got wider—wider an’ wider! She moughter seed all dis, an’ I speck she did, but she des keep right on, shakin’ de ax, an’ moufin’ ter herse’f. De man, he holler once mo’ an’ fer de las’ time, ‘Don’t let[292] ol’ Nick fool you, honey, ef you does, he sho will git you!’
“But she keep on an’ keep on, an’ de house got bigger an’ de do’ got wider. De pot see her comin’, an’ it got fum a-straddle er de fire, whar it had been settin’ at, an’ skipped out’ de do’ an’ out in de yard.” Uncle Remus paused to see what effect this statement would have on the child, but save the shadow of a smile hovering around his mouth, the youngster gave no indication of unbelief. “De ’oman,” said Uncle Remus, with a chuckle that was repressed before it developed into a laugh, “look like she ’stonish’, but her temper kep’ hot, an’ she run out atter de pot wid de ax ez high ez she kin hol’ it; but de pot keep on gwine, skippin’ long on three legs faster dan de ’oman kin run on two; an’ de ax kep’ on gittin’ heavier an’ heavier, twel, bimeby, de ’oman hatter drap it. Den she lit out atter de pot like she wuz runnin’ a foot-race, but fast ez she run, de pot run faster.
“Den she lit out atter de pot like she wuz runnin’ a foot-race”
“De chase led right inter de woods an’ down de spring branch, an’ away over yander beyan’ de[293] creek. De pot went so fast an’ it went so fur dat atter while de ’oman ’gun ter git weak. But de temper she had helt ’er up fer de longest, an’ mo’ dan dat, eve’y time she’d sorter slack up, de pot would dance an’ caper roun’ on its three legs, an’ do like it’s givin’ her a dar’—an’ she keep a-gwine twel she can’t hardly go no furder.
“De man he stayed at de house, but de ’oman an’ de pot ain’t git so fur but what he kin hear um scufflin’ an scramblin’ roun’ in de bushes, an’ he set dar, he did, an’ look like he right sorry fer anybody what’s ez hard-headed ez de ’oman. But she look like she bleeze ter ketch dat pot. She say ter herse’f dat folks will never git done talkin’ ’bout her ef she let herse’f be outdone by a ol’ dinner-pot what been in de fambly yever sence dey been any fambly.
“So she keep on, twel she tripped up on a vine er de bamboo brier, an’ down she come! It seem like de pot seed her, an’ stidder runnin’ fum ’er, here it come a-runnin’ right at ’er wid a chunk er red fire. Oh, you kin laugh, honey, an’ look like you don’t b’lieve me, but dat ain’t make no diffunce,[294] kaze de trufe ain’t never been hurted yit by dem what ain’t b’lieve it. I dunner whar de chunk er fire come fum, an’ I dunner how de dinner-pot come ter have motion, but dar ’tis in de tale—take it er leave it, des ez you bleeze.
“Well, suh, when de ’oman fell, de pot made at her wid a chunk er red fire. De ’oman see it comin’, an’ she set up a squall dat moughter been heard a mile. She jump up, she did, but it seem like she wuz so weak an’ tired dat she can’t stan’ on her foots, an’ she start fer ter fall ag’in, but de dinner-pot wuz dar fer ter ketch ’er when she fell. An’ dat wuz de last dat anybody yever is see er de hard-headed ’oman. Leas’ ways, she ain’t never come back ter de house whar de man wuz settin’ at.
“De pot? Well, de way dey got it in de tale is dat de pot des laugh twel it hatter hol’ its sides fer ter keep fum crackin’ open. It come a-hoppin’ an’ a-skippin’ up de spring paff. It hopped along, it did, twel it come ter de house, an’ it made a runnin’ jump in de do’. Den it wash its face, an’ scrape de mud off’n it foots, an’ wiped off de[295] grease what de ’oman been too lazy fer ter clean off. Den it went ter de fireplace, an’ kinder spraddle out so it’ll fit de bricks what been put dar fer it ter set on.
“De man watch all dis, but he ain’t say nothin’. Atter while he hear a mighty bilin’ an’ bubblin’ an’ when he went ter look fer ter see what de matter, he see his supper cookin’ an’ atter so long a time, he fish it out an’ eat it. He eat in peace, an’ atter dat he allers had peace. An’ when you wanter be hard-headed, an’ have yo’ own way, you better b’ar in min’ de ’oman an’ de dinner-pot.”
C159. Brother Rabbit and Miss Nancy (original spelling)
16. Brother Rabbit and Miss Nancy. Text Source: Told by Uncle Remus by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. You can click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.
One day, when Uncle Remus had told one of the stories that have already been set forth, the little boy was unusually thoughtful. He had asked his mother whether there was ever a time when the animals acted and talked like people, and she, without reflecting, being a young and an impulsive woman, had answered most emphatically in the negative. Now, this little boy was shrewder than he was given credit for being, and he knew that neither his grandmother nor Uncle Remus would set great store by what his mother said. How he knew this would be difficult to explain, but he knew it all the same. Therefore, when he interjected a doubt as to the truth of the tales, he kept the name of his authority to himself.
“Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, “how do[267] you know that the tales you tell are true? Couldn’t somebody make them up?”
The old man looked at the little child, and knew who had sown the seeds of doubt in his mind, and the knowledge made him groan and shake his head. “Maybe you think I done it, honey, but ef you does, de sooner you fergit it off’n yo’ min’, de better fer you, kaze I’d set here an’ dry up an’ blow way ’fo’ I kin tell a tale er my own make-up; an’ ef dey’s anybody deze days what kin make um up, I’d like fer ter snuggle up ter ’im, an’ ax ’im ter l’arn me how.”
“Do you really believe the animals could talk?” asked the child.
“What diffunce do it make what I b’lieve, honey? Ef dey kin talk in dem days, er ef dey can’t, b’lievin’ er not b’lievin’ ain’t gwineter he’p matters. Ol’ folks what live in dem times dey say de creeturs kin talk, kaze dey done talk wid um, an’ dey tell it ter der chillun an’ der chillun tell it ter der chillun right on down ter deze days. So den what you gwineter do ’bout it—b’lieve dem what had it fum de ol’ folks dat know’d, er[268] dem what ain’t never hear nothin’ ’tall about it twel dey git it second han’ fum a ol’ nigger man?”
The child perceived that Uncle Remus was hitting pretty close to home, as the saying is, and he said nothing for a while. “I haven’t said that I don’t believe them,” he remarked presently.
“Ef you said it, honey, you ain’t say it whar I kin hear you, but I take notice dat you hol’ yo’ head on one side an’ kinder wrinkle yo’ face up when I tell deze tales. Ef you don’t b’lieve um, tain’t no mo’ use fer me ter tell um dan ’tis fer me ter fly.”
“My face always wrinkles when I laugh, Uncle Remus.”
“An’ when you cry,” responded the old man so promptly that the child laughed, though he hardly knew what he was laughing at.
“I’m gwineter tell you one now,” remarked Uncle Remus, wiping a smile from his face with the back of his hand, “an’ you kin take it er leave it, des ez you please. Ef you see anything wrong in it anywhar, you kin p’int it out ez we go ’long.[269] I been tellin’ you dat Brer Rabbit wuz a heap bigger in dem days dan what he is now. It looks like de fambly done run ter seed, an’ I bet you dat ninety-nine thousan’ year fum dis ve’y day, de Rabbit-tum-a-hash crowd won’ be bigger dan fiel’-mice—I bet you dat. He wa’n’t only bigger, but he wuz mighty handy ’bout a farm, when he tuck a notion, speshually ef Mr. Man had any greens in his truck-patch. Well, one time, times wuz so hard dat he hatter hire out fer his vittles an’ cloze. He had de idee dat he wuz gittin’ a mighty heap fer de work he done, an Mr. Man tell his daughter dat he gittin’ Brer Rabbit mighty cheap. Dey wuz bofe satchified, an’ when dat’s de case, eve’ybody else oughter be satchified. Brer Rabbit kin hoe taters, an’ chop cotton, an’ fetch up breshwood, an’ split de kindlin, an’ do right smart.
“He say ter hisse’f, Brer Rabbit did, dat ef he ain’t gittin’ no money an’ mighty few cloze, he boun’ he’d have a plenty vittles. De fust week er two, he ain’t cut up no shines; he wuz gittin’ usen ter de place. He stuck ter his work right[270] straight along twel Mr. Man say he one er de bes’ han’s on de whole place, an’ he tell his daughter dat she better set ’er cap fer Brer Rabbit. De gal she toss her head an’ make a mouf, but all de samey she ’gun ter cas’ sheep eyes at ’im.
“One fine day, when de sun shinin’ mighty hot, Brer Rabbit ’gun ter git mighty hongry. He say he want some water. Mr. Man say, ‘Dar de bucket, an’ yan’ de spring. Eve’ything fix so you kin git water monstus easy.’ Brer Rabbit git de water, but still dey wuz a gnyawin’ in his stomach, an’ bimeby he say he want some bread. Mr. Man say, ’Tain’t been so mighty long sense you had brekkus, but no matter ’bout dat. Yan’s de house, in de house you’ll fin’ my daughter, an’ she’ll gi’ you what bread you want.’
“Wid dat Brer Rabbit put out fer de house, an’ dar he fin’ de gal. She say, ‘La, Brer Rabbit, you oughter be at work, but stidder dat here you is at de house. I hear pap say dat youer mighty good worker, but ef dis de way you does yo’ work, I dunner what make ’im sesso.’ Brer Rabbit say, ‘I’m here, Miss Nancy, kaze yo’ daddy sont[271] me.’ Miss Nancy ’low, ‘Ain’t you ’shame er yo’se’f fer ter talk dat a-way? You know pap ain’t sont you.’ Brer Rabbit say, ‘Yassum, he did,’ an’ den he smole one er deze yer lopsided smiles. Miss Nancy kinder hang ’er head an’ low, ‘Stop lookin’ at me so brazen.’ Brer Rabbit stood dar wid his eyes shot, an’ he ain’t say nothin’. Miss Nancy say, ‘Is you gone ter sleep? You oughter be ’shame fer ter drap off dat a-way whar dey’s ladies.’
“Brer Rabbit make a bow, he did, an’ ’low, ‘You tol’ me not ter look at you, an’ ef I ain’t ter look at you, I des ez well ter keep my eyes shot.’ De gal she giggle an’ say Brer Rabbit oughtn’t ter make fun er her right befo’ her face an’ eyes. She ax what her pap sont ’im fer, an’ he ’low dat Mr. Man sont ’im for a dollar an’ a half, an’ some bread an’ butter. Miss Nancy say she don’t b’lieve ’im, an’ wid dat she run down todes de fiel’ whar her pa wuz workin’ an’ holler at ’im—‘Pap! Oh, pap!’ Mr. Man make answer, ‘Hey?’ an’ de gal say, ‘Is you say what Brer Rabbit say you say?’ Mr. Man he holler back dat dat’s des[272] what he say, an’ Miss Nancy she run back ter der house, an’ gi’ Brer Rabbit a dollar an’ a half an’ some bread an’ butter.
“Time passed, an’ eve’y once in a while Brer Rabbit’d go ter de house endurin’ de day, an’ tell Miss Nancy dat her daddy say fer ter gi’ ’im money an’ some bread an’ butter. An’ de gal, she’d go part er de way ter whar Mr. Man is workin’, an’ holler an’ ax ef he sesso, an’ Mr. Man ’d holler back, ‘Yes, honey, dat what I say.’ It got so atter while dat dey ain’t so mighty much money in de house, an’ ’bout dat time, Miss Nancy, she had a beau, which he useter come ter see her eve’y Sunday, an’ sometimes Sat’day, an’ it got so, atter while, dat she won’t skacely look at Brer Rabbit.
“De beau got ter flingin’ his sass roun’ Brer Rabbit”
“Dis make ’im laugh, an’ he kinder studied how he gwineter git even wid um, kaze de beau got ter flingin’ his sass roun’ Brer Rabbit, an’ de gal, she’d giggle, ez gals will. But Brer Rabbit des sot dar, he did, an’ chaw his terbacker, an’ spit in de fier. But one day Mr. Man hear ’im talkin’ ter hisse’f whiles deyer workin’ in de[273] same fiel’, and he ax Brer Rabbit what he say. Brer Rabbit ’low dat he des try in’ fer ter l’arn a speech what he hear a little bird say, an’ wid dat he went on diggin’ in de groun’ des like he don’t keer whedder anything happen er not. But dis don’t satchify Mr. Man, an’ he ax Brer Rabbit what de speech is. Brer Rabbit ’low dat de way de little bird say it dey ain’t no sense ter it fur ez he kin see. But Mr. Man keep on axin’ ’im what ’tis, an’ bimeby he up an’ ’low, ‘De beau kiss de gal an’ call her honey; den he kiss her ag’in, an’ she gi’ im de money.’
“Mr. Man say, ‘Which money?’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘Youer too much fer me. Dey tells me dat money’s money, no matter whar you git it, er how you git it. Ef de little bird wa’n’t singin’ a song, den I’m mighty much mistooken.’ But dis don’ make Mr. Man feel no better dan what he been feelin’. He went on workin’, but all de time de speech dat de little bird made wuz runnin’ in his min’:
“De beau kiss de gal, an’ call her honey;
Den he kiss her ag’in, an’ she gi’ ’im de money.”
[274]
“He keep on sayin’ it over in his min’, an’ de mo’ he say it de mo’ it worry him. Dat night when he went home, de beau wuz dar, an’ he wuz mo’ gayly dan ever. He flung sass at Brer Rabbit, an Brer Rabbit des sot dar an’ chaw his terbacker, an’ spit in de fier. Den Mr. Man went ter de place whar he keep his money, an’ he fin’ it mos’ all gone. He come back, he did, an’ he say, ‘Whar my money?’ De gal, she ain’t wanter have no words ’fo’ her beau, an’ ’spon’, ‘You know whar ’tis des ez well ez I does,’ an’ de man say, ‘I speck youer right ’bout dat, an’ sence I does, I want you ter pack up an’ git right out ter dis house an’ take yo’ beau wid you.’ An’ so dar ’twuz.
“De gal, she cry some, but de beau muched her up, an’ dey went off an’ got married, an’ Mr. Man tuck all his things an’ move off somers, I dunner whar, an’ dey wa’n’t nobody lef’ in dem neighberhoods but me an’ Brer Rabbit.”
“You and Brother Rabbit?” cried the little boy.
[275]
“Dat’s what I said,” replied Uncle Remus. “Me an’ Brer Rabbit. De gal, she tol’ her chillun ’bout how Brer Rabbit had done her an’ her pa, an’ fum dat time on, deyer been persooin’ on atter him.”
One day, when Uncle Remus had told one of the stories that have already been set forth, the little boy was unusually thoughtful. He had asked his mother whether there was ever a time when the animals acted and talked like people, and she, without reflecting, being a young and an impulsive woman, had answered most emphatically in the negative. Now, this little boy was shrewder than he was given credit for being, and he knew that neither his grandmother nor Uncle Remus would set great store by what his mother said. How he knew this would be difficult to explain, but he knew it all the same. Therefore, when he interjected a doubt as to the truth of the tales, he kept the name of his authority to himself.
“Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, “how do[267] you know that the tales you tell are true? Couldn’t somebody make them up?”
The old man looked at the little child, and knew who had sown the seeds of doubt in his mind, and the knowledge made him groan and shake his head. “Maybe you think I done it, honey, but ef you does, de sooner you fergit it off’n yo’ min’, de better fer you, kaze I’d set here an’ dry up an’ blow way ’fo’ I kin tell a tale er my own make-up; an’ ef dey’s anybody deze days what kin make um up, I’d like fer ter snuggle up ter ’im, an’ ax ’im ter l’arn me how.”
“Do you really believe the animals could talk?” asked the child.
“What diffunce do it make what I b’lieve, honey? Ef dey kin talk in dem days, er ef dey can’t, b’lievin’ er not b’lievin’ ain’t gwineter he’p matters. Ol’ folks what live in dem times dey say de creeturs kin talk, kaze dey done talk wid um, an’ dey tell it ter der chillun an’ der chillun tell it ter der chillun right on down ter deze days. So den what you gwineter do ’bout it—b’lieve dem what had it fum de ol’ folks dat know’d, er[268] dem what ain’t never hear nothin’ ’tall about it twel dey git it second han’ fum a ol’ nigger man?”
The child perceived that Uncle Remus was hitting pretty close to home, as the saying is, and he said nothing for a while. “I haven’t said that I don’t believe them,” he remarked presently.
“Ef you said it, honey, you ain’t say it whar I kin hear you, but I take notice dat you hol’ yo’ head on one side an’ kinder wrinkle yo’ face up when I tell deze tales. Ef you don’t b’lieve um, tain’t no mo’ use fer me ter tell um dan ’tis fer me ter fly.”
“My face always wrinkles when I laugh, Uncle Remus.”
“An’ when you cry,” responded the old man so promptly that the child laughed, though he hardly knew what he was laughing at.
“I’m gwineter tell you one now,” remarked Uncle Remus, wiping a smile from his face with the back of his hand, “an’ you kin take it er leave it, des ez you please. Ef you see anything wrong in it anywhar, you kin p’int it out ez we go ’long.[269] I been tellin’ you dat Brer Rabbit wuz a heap bigger in dem days dan what he is now. It looks like de fambly done run ter seed, an’ I bet you dat ninety-nine thousan’ year fum dis ve’y day, de Rabbit-tum-a-hash crowd won’ be bigger dan fiel’-mice—I bet you dat. He wa’n’t only bigger, but he wuz mighty handy ’bout a farm, when he tuck a notion, speshually ef Mr. Man had any greens in his truck-patch. Well, one time, times wuz so hard dat he hatter hire out fer his vittles an’ cloze. He had de idee dat he wuz gittin’ a mighty heap fer de work he done, an Mr. Man tell his daughter dat he gittin’ Brer Rabbit mighty cheap. Dey wuz bofe satchified, an’ when dat’s de case, eve’ybody else oughter be satchified. Brer Rabbit kin hoe taters, an’ chop cotton, an’ fetch up breshwood, an’ split de kindlin, an’ do right smart.
“He say ter hisse’f, Brer Rabbit did, dat ef he ain’t gittin’ no money an’ mighty few cloze, he boun’ he’d have a plenty vittles. De fust week er two, he ain’t cut up no shines; he wuz gittin’ usen ter de place. He stuck ter his work right[270] straight along twel Mr. Man say he one er de bes’ han’s on de whole place, an’ he tell his daughter dat she better set ’er cap fer Brer Rabbit. De gal she toss her head an’ make a mouf, but all de samey she ’gun ter cas’ sheep eyes at ’im.
“One fine day, when de sun shinin’ mighty hot, Brer Rabbit ’gun ter git mighty hongry. He say he want some water. Mr. Man say, ‘Dar de bucket, an’ yan’ de spring. Eve’ything fix so you kin git water monstus easy.’ Brer Rabbit git de water, but still dey wuz a gnyawin’ in his stomach, an’ bimeby he say he want some bread. Mr. Man say, ’Tain’t been so mighty long sense you had brekkus, but no matter ’bout dat. Yan’s de house, in de house you’ll fin’ my daughter, an’ she’ll gi’ you what bread you want.’
“Wid dat Brer Rabbit put out fer de house, an’ dar he fin’ de gal. She say, ‘La, Brer Rabbit, you oughter be at work, but stidder dat here you is at de house. I hear pap say dat youer mighty good worker, but ef dis de way you does yo’ work, I dunner what make ’im sesso.’ Brer Rabbit say, ‘I’m here, Miss Nancy, kaze yo’ daddy sont[271] me.’ Miss Nancy ’low, ‘Ain’t you ’shame er yo’se’f fer ter talk dat a-way? You know pap ain’t sont you.’ Brer Rabbit say, ‘Yassum, he did,’ an’ den he smole one er deze yer lopsided smiles. Miss Nancy kinder hang ’er head an’ low, ‘Stop lookin’ at me so brazen.’ Brer Rabbit stood dar wid his eyes shot, an’ he ain’t say nothin’. Miss Nancy say, ‘Is you gone ter sleep? You oughter be ’shame fer ter drap off dat a-way whar dey’s ladies.’
“Brer Rabbit make a bow, he did, an’ ’low, ‘You tol’ me not ter look at you, an’ ef I ain’t ter look at you, I des ez well ter keep my eyes shot.’ De gal she giggle an’ say Brer Rabbit oughtn’t ter make fun er her right befo’ her face an’ eyes. She ax what her pap sont ’im fer, an’ he ’low dat Mr. Man sont ’im for a dollar an’ a half, an’ some bread an’ butter. Miss Nancy say she don’t b’lieve ’im, an’ wid dat she run down todes de fiel’ whar her pa wuz workin’ an’ holler at ’im—‘Pap! Oh, pap!’ Mr. Man make answer, ‘Hey?’ an’ de gal say, ‘Is you say what Brer Rabbit say you say?’ Mr. Man he holler back dat dat’s des[272] what he say, an’ Miss Nancy she run back ter der house, an’ gi’ Brer Rabbit a dollar an’ a half an’ some bread an’ butter.
“Time passed, an’ eve’y once in a while Brer Rabbit’d go ter de house endurin’ de day, an’ tell Miss Nancy dat her daddy say fer ter gi’ ’im money an’ some bread an’ butter. An’ de gal, she’d go part er de way ter whar Mr. Man is workin’, an’ holler an’ ax ef he sesso, an’ Mr. Man ’d holler back, ‘Yes, honey, dat what I say.’ It got so atter while dat dey ain’t so mighty much money in de house, an’ ’bout dat time, Miss Nancy, she had a beau, which he useter come ter see her eve’y Sunday, an’ sometimes Sat’day, an’ it got so, atter while, dat she won’t skacely look at Brer Rabbit.
“De beau got ter flingin’ his sass roun’ Brer Rabbit”
“Dis make ’im laugh, an’ he kinder studied how he gwineter git even wid um, kaze de beau got ter flingin’ his sass roun’ Brer Rabbit, an’ de gal, she’d giggle, ez gals will. But Brer Rabbit des sot dar, he did, an’ chaw his terbacker, an’ spit in de fier. But one day Mr. Man hear ’im talkin’ ter hisse’f whiles deyer workin’ in de[273] same fiel’, and he ax Brer Rabbit what he say. Brer Rabbit ’low dat he des try in’ fer ter l’arn a speech what he hear a little bird say, an’ wid dat he went on diggin’ in de groun’ des like he don’t keer whedder anything happen er not. But dis don’t satchify Mr. Man, an’ he ax Brer Rabbit what de speech is. Brer Rabbit ’low dat de way de little bird say it dey ain’t no sense ter it fur ez he kin see. But Mr. Man keep on axin’ ’im what ’tis, an’ bimeby he up an’ ’low, ‘De beau kiss de gal an’ call her honey; den he kiss her ag’in, an’ she gi’ im de money.’
“Mr. Man say, ‘Which money?’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘Youer too much fer me. Dey tells me dat money’s money, no matter whar you git it, er how you git it. Ef de little bird wa’n’t singin’ a song, den I’m mighty much mistooken.’ But dis don’ make Mr. Man feel no better dan what he been feelin’. He went on workin’, but all de time de speech dat de little bird made wuz runnin’ in his min’:
“De beau kiss de gal, an’ call her honey;
Den he kiss her ag’in, an’ she gi’ ’im de money.”
[274]
“He keep on sayin’ it over in his min’, an’ de mo’ he say it de mo’ it worry him. Dat night when he went home, de beau wuz dar, an’ he wuz mo’ gayly dan ever. He flung sass at Brer Rabbit, an Brer Rabbit des sot dar an’ chaw his terbacker, an’ spit in de fier. Den Mr. Man went ter de place whar he keep his money, an’ he fin’ it mos’ all gone. He come back, he did, an’ he say, ‘Whar my money?’ De gal, she ain’t wanter have no words ’fo’ her beau, an’ ’spon’, ‘You know whar ’tis des ez well ez I does,’ an’ de man say, ‘I speck youer right ’bout dat, an’ sence I does, I want you ter pack up an’ git right out ter dis house an’ take yo’ beau wid you.’ An’ so dar ’twuz.
“De gal, she cry some, but de beau muched her up, an’ dey went off an’ got married, an’ Mr. Man tuck all his things an’ move off somers, I dunner whar, an’ dey wa’n’t nobody lef’ in dem neighberhoods but me an’ Brer Rabbit.”
“You and Brother Rabbit?” cried the little boy.
[275]
“Dat’s what I said,” replied Uncle Remus. “Me an’ Brer Rabbit. De gal, she tol’ her chillun ’bout how Brer Rabbit had done her an’ her pa, an’ fum dat time on, deyer been persooin’ on atter him.”
Friday, July 17, 2015
C158. Brother Rabbit and the Gizzard-eater (original spelling)
15. Brother Rabbit and the Gizzard-eater. Text Source: Told by Uncle Remus by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. You can click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.
“It seem like ter me dat I hear somebody say, not longer dan day ’fo’ yistiddy, dat dey’d be mighty glad ef dey could fin’ some un fer ter bet wid um,” said Uncle Remus, staring hard at the little boy, and then suddenly shutting his eyes tight, so that he might keep from laughing at the expression he saw on the child’s face. Receiving no immediate response to his remark, the old man opened his eyes again, and found the little boy regarding him with a puzzled air.
“My mother says it is wrong to bet,” said the child after awhile. He was quite serious, and it was just this aspect of seriousness that made him a little different from another little boy that had been raised at Uncle Remus’s knee. “Mother says that no Christian would want to bet.”
The old man closed his eyes again, as though[244] trying to remember something. He frowned and smacked his mouth before he spoke, “It look like dat I never is ter git de tas’e er dat chicken-pie what yo’ gran’ma sont me out’n my mouf. I dunner when I been had any chicken-pie what stayed wid me like dat chicken-pie. But ’bout dat bettin’,” he remarked, straightening himself in his chair, “I speck I mus’ ’a’ been a-dreamin’. I know mighty well it couldn’t ’a’ been you; so we’ll des up an’ say it wuz little Dreamus, an’ let it go at dat. All I know is dat dey wuz a little chap loungin’ roun’ here tryin’ fer ter l’arn how ter play mumbly-peg wid one er de case-knives what he tuck fum de white folks’ dinner-table, an’ whiles he wuz in de middle er his l’arnin’, de ol’ speckled hen run fum under de house here, an’ sot up a mighty cacklin’, kaze she fear’d some un wuz gwineter interrupt de eggs what she been nussin’ an’ warmin’ up. She cackle, an’ she cackle, an’ den she cackle some mo’ fer ter keep fum fergittin’ how; an’ ’long ’bout dat time, dish yer little boy what I been tellin’ you ’bout—I speck we’ll be bleeze ter call him Dreamus—he[245] up wid a rock an’ flung it right at ’er, an’ ef she’d ’a’ been in de way er de rock, he’d ’a’ come mighty nigh hittin’ her. Dis make de ol’ hen bofe skeer’d an’ fear’d an’ likewise mad, an’ she hitched a squall on ter her cackle, an’ flop her wings. Seein’ dat de hen wuz mad, dis little chap, which he name Dreamus, he got mad, too, an’ he ’lowed, ‘I bet you I make you hush!’ an’ dar dey had it, de ol’ hen runnin’ an’ squallin’, an’ de little chap zoonin’ rocks at her. I speck de hen would ’a’ bet ef she’d ’a’ know’d how—an’ she sho’ would ’a’ won de bet, kaze de las’ news I hear fum ’er she wuz runnin’ an’ squallin’.”
The little boy squirmed uneasily in his chair. He remembered the incident very well, so well that he hardly knew what to say. But after a while, thinking that it was both necessary and polite to say something, he declared that when he made that remark to the hen he knew she wouldn’t understand him, and that what he said about betting was just a saying.
“Dat mought be, honey,” said Uncle Remus, “but don’t you fool yo’se’f ’bout dat hen not[246] knowin’ how ter talk, kaze dey has been times an’ places when de creeturs kin do lots mo’ talkin’ dan folks. When you git ter be ol’ ez what I is, you’ll know dat talkin’ ain’t got nothin’ in de roun’ worl’ ter do wid fedders, an’ needer wid fur. I hear you say you want ter bet wid de ol’ hen, an’ ef you still wantin’ you got a mighty good chance dis day ef de sun is mighty nigh down. I’ll bet you a thrip ag’in a ginger-cake dat when you had yo’ dinner you ain’t fin’ no chicken gizzard in yo’ part er de pie.”
“No,” replied the child, “I didn’t, and when I asked grandmother about it, she said she was going to raise some chickens next year with double gizzards.”
“Did she say dat? Did Miss Sally say dat?” inquired Uncle Remus, laughing delightedly. “Well, suh, dat sho’ do bang my time! How come she ter know dat some er de creeturs got double gizzards? She sho’ is de outdoin’est white ’oman what’s yever been bornded inter de worl’. She done sont me de chicken gizzard des so I kin tell you ’bout de double gizzards an’ de what-nots.[247] Double gizzards! De ve’y name flings me ’way back yander ter ol’ folks an’ ol’ times. Laws-a-massy! I wonder what Miss Sally gwine do nex’; anybody what guess it oughter be president by good rights.” Uncle Remus paused, and lowered his voice to a confidential tone—“She ain’t tell you ’bout de time when de Yallergater wuz honin’ fer ol’ Brer Rabbit’s double gizzards, is she, honey?”
“No, she didn’t tell me that, but she laughed, and when I asked her what she was laughing at, she said I’d find out by the time I was seven feet tall.”
“You hear dat, don’t you?” Uncle Remus spoke as though there were a third person in the room. “What I been tellin’ you all dis time?” and then he laughed as though this third person were laughing with him. “You may try, an’ you may fly, but you never is ter see de beat er Miss Sally.”
“Was grandmother talking about a tale, Uncle Remus? It must have been a very funny one, for she laughed until she had to take off her spectacles and wipe them dry,” said the little boy.
[248]
“Dat’s her! dat’s Miss Sally up an’ down, an’ dey can’t nobody git ahead er her. She know’d mighty well dat time you say sump’n ’bout double gizzards my min’ would fly right back ter de time when de Yalligater wuz dribblin’ at de mouf, an’ ol’ Brer Rabbit wuz shaking in his shoes.”
“If it’s a long story, I’m afraid you haven’t time to tell it now,” suggested the little boy.
The child was so polite that the old negro stood somewhat in awe of him, and he was afraid, too, that it was ominous of some misfortune—there was something uncanny about it from Uncle Remus’s point of view. “Bless you, honey! I got des ez much time ez what dey is—it all b’longs ter me an’ you. Maybe you wanter go some’rs else; maybe you’ll wait twel some yuther day fer de platted whip dat I hear you talkin’ ’bout.”
“No; I’ll wait and get the story and the whip together—if you are not too tired.”
The old negro looked at the little boy from the corner of his eye to see if he was really in earnest.[249] Satisfying himself on that score, he promptly began to plait the whip while he unraveled the story. He seemed to be more serious than usual, but one of the peculiarities of Uncle Remus, as many a child had discovered, was that he was not to be judged by any outward aspect. This is the way he began:
“Ever since I been pirootin’ roun’ in deze low-groun’s, it’s been de talk er dem what know’d dat Brer Rabbit wuz a mighty man at a frolic. I don’t speck he’d show up much in deze days, but in de times when de creeturs wuz bossin’ dey own jobs, Brer Rabbit wuz up fer perty nigh ev’ything dat wuz gwine on ef dey want too much work in it. Dey couldn’t be a dance er a quiltin’ nowhar’s aroun’ but what he’d be dar; he wuz fust ter come an’ last ter go.
“He holla’d fer de man what run de ferry”
“Well, dey wuz one time when he went too fur an’ stayed too late, bekaze a big rain come endurin’ de time when dey wuz playin’ an’ dancin’, an’ when Brer Rabbit put out fer home, he foun’ dat a big freshet done come an’ gone. De dreens had got ter be creeks, de creeks had got ter be[250] rivers, an’ de rivers—well, I ain’t gwine ter tell you what de rivers wuz kaze you’d think dat I done tol’ de trufe good-bye. By makin’ big jumps an’ gwine out er his way, Brer Rabbit manage fer ter git ez close ter home ez de creek, but when he git dar, de creek wuz so wide dat it make him feel like he been los’ so long dat his fambly done fergot him. Many an’ many a time had he cross’ dat creek on a log, but de log done gone, an’ de water wuz spread out all over creation. De water wuz wide, but dat wa’n’t mo’ dan half—it look like it wuz de wettest water dat Brer Rabbit ever lay eyes on.
“Dar wuz ol’ Brer B’ar settin’ at de foot er de tree”
“Dey wuz a ferry dar fer times like dis, but it look like it wuz a bigger fresh dan what dey had counted on. Brer Rabbit, he sot on de bank an’ wipe de damp out’n his face an’ eyes, an’ den he[251] holla’d fer de man what run de ferry. He holla’d an’ holla’d, an’ bimeby, he hear some un answer him, an’ he looked a little closer, an’ dar wuz de man, which his name wuz Jerry, way up in de top lim’s uv a tree; an’ he looked still closer, an’ he seed dat Jerry had company, kaze dar wuz ol’ Brer B’ar settin’ at de foot er de tree, waitin’ fer Jerry fer ter come down so he kin tell ’im howdy.” Uncle Remus paused to see what effect this statement would have on the little boy. The youngster said nothing, but his shrewd smile showed the old man that he fully appreciated the reason why Jerry[252] was in no hurry to shake hands with Brother Bear.
“Well, suh, Brer Rabbit took notice dat dey wuz sump’n mo’ dan dampness ’twix’ um, an he start in ter holla again, an’ he holla’d so loud, an’ he holla’d so long, dat he woke up ol’ Brer Yalligater. Now, it ain’t make ol’ Brer Yalligater feel good fer ter be wokened up at dat hour, kaze he’d des had a nice supper er pine-knots an’ sweet ’taters, an’ he wuz layin’ out at full lenk on his mud bed. He ’low ter hisse’f, he did, ‘Who in de nation is dis tryin’ fer ter holla de bottom out er de creek?’ He lissen, an’ den he turn over an’ lissen ag’in. He shot one eye, an’ den he shot de yuther one, but dey ain’t no sleepin’ in dat neighberhood. Jerry in de tree, he holla back, ‘Can’t come—got comp’ny!’
“Brer Yalligater, he hear dis, an’ he say ter hisse’f dat ef nobody can’t come, he kin, an’ he riz ter de top wid no mo’ fuss dan a fedder-bed makes when you let it ’lone. He riz, he did, an’ his two eyes look des perzackly like two bullets floatin’ on de water. He riz an’ wunk his eye, an’[253] ax Brer Rabbit howdy, an’ mo’ speshually how is his daughter. Brer Rabbit, he say dat dey ain’t no tellin’ how his daughter is, kaze when he lef’ home her head wuz a-swellin’. He say dat some er de neighbors’ chillun come by an’ flung rocks at her an’ one un um hit her on top er de head right whar de cow-lick is, an’ he hatter run atter de doctor.
“He riz an’ wunk his eye, an’ ax Brer Rabbit howdy”
“Brer Yalligater ’low, ‘You don’t tell me, Brer Rabbit, dat it’s come ter dis! Yo’ chillun gittin’ chunked by yo’ neighbors’ chillun! Well, well, well! I wish you’d tell me wharbouts it’s all a-gwine ter een’ at. Why, it’ll git so atter while dat dey ain’t no peace anywhar’s ’ceppin at my house in de bed er de creek.’
[254]
“Brer Rabbit say, ‘Ain’t it de trufe? An’ not only does Brer Fox chillun chunk my chillun on dey cow-licks, but no sooner is I gone atter de doctor dan here come de creek a-risin’. I may be wrong, but I ain’t skeer’d ter say dat it beats anything I yever is lay eyes on. Over yander in de fur woods is what my daughter is layin’ wid de headache, an’ here’s her pa, an’ ’twix’ us is de b’ilin’ creek. Ef I wuz ter try ter wade, ten ter one de water would be over my head, an’ ef not dat bad, all de pills what de doctor gi’ me would melt in my pocket. An’ dey might pizen me, kaze de doctor ain’t say dey wuz ter be tuck outside.’
“‘Ef you think you kin stay in one place long enough, I’ll try ter put you ’cross de creek’”
“Ol’ Brer Yalligater float on de water like he[255] ain’t weigh no mo’ dan one er deze yer postitch stomps, an’ he try ter drop a tear. He groan, he did, an’ float backerds an’ forrerds like a tired canoe. He say, ‘Brer Rabbit, ef dey yever wuz a rover you is one. Up you come an’ off you go, an’ dey ain’t no mo’ keepin’ up wid you dan ef you had wings. Ef you think you kin stay in one place long enough, I’ll try ter put you ’cross de creek. Brer Rabbit kinder rub his chin whiles he wiggle his nose. He ’low, sezee, ‘Brer ’Gater, how deep is dat water what you floatin’ in?’ Brer Yalligater say, sezee, ‘Brer Rabbit, ef me an’ my ol’ ’oman wuz ter jine heads, an’ I wuz ter stan’ on de tip-een’ my tail, dey’ll still be room enough fer all er my chillun ’fo’ we totch bottom.’
“Brer Rabbit, he fell back like he gwineter faint. He ’low, ‘Brer ’Gater, you don’t tell me! You sholy don’t mean dem last words! Why, you make me feel like I’m furder fum home and dem what’s done lost fer good! How de name er goodness you gwineter put me ’cross dis slippery water?’ Brer Yalligater, he blow a bubble or two out’n his nose, an’ den he say, sezee, ‘Ef you kin[256] stay still in one place long ’nough, I’m gwineter take you ’cross on my back. You nee’nter say thanky, yit I want you ter know dat I ain’t eve’ybody’s water-hoss.’ Brer Rabbit he ’low, sezee, ‘I kin well b’lieve dat, Brer ’Gater, but somehow, I kinder got a notion dat yo’ tail mighty limber. I hear ol’ folks say dat you kin knock a chip fum de back er yo’ head wid de tip-een’ er yo’ tail an’ never haf try.’ Brer Yalligater smack his mouf, an’ say, sezee, ‘Limber my tail may be, Brer Rabbit, an’ fur-reachin’, but don’t blame me. It wuz dat a-way when it wuz ’gun ter me. It’s all j’inted up ’cordin’ ter natur.’
“Brer Rabbit, he study an’ study, an’ de mo’ he study, de wuss he like it. But he bleeze ter go home—dey wa’n’t no two ways ’bout dat—an’ he ’low, sezee, ‘I speck what you say is some’rs in de neighborhoods er de trufe, Brer ’Gater, an’ mo’ dan dat, I b’lieve I’ll go ’long wid you. Ef you’ll ride up a leetle closer, I’ll make up my mind so I won’t keep you waitin’.’ Brer Yalligater, he float by de side er de bank same ez a cork out’n a pickle bottle. He ain’t do like he[257] in a hurry, kaze he drapt a word er two about de wedder, an’ he say dat de water wuz mighty col’ down dar in de slushes. But Brer Rabbit tuck notice dat when he smole one er his smiles, he show’d up a double row er tushes, dat look like dey’d do mighty good work in a saw-mill. Brer Rabbit, he ’gun ter shake like he havin’ a chill; he ’low, ‘I feel dat damp, Brer ’Gater, dat I mought des ez well be in water up ter my chin!’ Brer Yalligater ain’t say nothin’, but he can’t hide his tushes. Brer Rabbit look up, he look down, an’ he look all aroun’. He ain’t skacely know what ter do. He ’low, ‘Brer ’Gater, yo’ back mighty roughnin’; how I gwine ter ride on it?’ Brer Yalligater say, sezee, ‘De roughnin’ will he’p you ter hol’ on, kaze you’ll hatter ride straddle. You kin des fit yo’ foots on de bumps an’ kinder brace yo’se’f when you think you see a log floatin’ at us. You kin des set up dar same ez ef you wuz settin’ at home in yo’ rockin’-cheer.
“‘Brer ’Gater, ef I ain’t mighty much mistooken, you ain’t headin’ fer de lan’in’’”
“Brer Rabbit shuck his head, but he got on, he did, an’ he ain’t no sooner git on dan he wish mighty hard he wuz off. Brer Yalligater say,[258] sezee. ‘You kin pant ef you wanter, Brer Rabbit, but I’ll do de paddlin’,’ an’ den he slip thoo de water des like he greased. Brer Rabbit sho’ wuz skeer’d but he keep his eye open, an’ bimeby he tuck notice dat Brer Yalligater wa’n’t makin’ fer de place whar de lan’in’s at, an’ he up an’ sesso. He ’low, ‘Brer ’Gater, ef I ain’t mighty much mistooken, you ain’t headin’ fer de lan’in’.’ Brer Yalligater say, sezee, ‘You sho’ is got mighty good eyes, Brer Rabbit. I been waitin’ fer you a long time, an’ I’m de wust kinder waiter. I most know you ain’t ferget dat day in de stubble, when you say you gwineter show me ol’ man Trouble. Well, you ain’t only show ’im ter me, but you made me shake han’s wid ’im. You sot de dry[259] grass afire, an’ burn me scandalious. Dat de reason my back so rough, an’ dat de reason my hide so tough. Well, I been a-waitin’ sence dat time, an’ now here you is. You burn me twel I hatter squench de burnin’ in de big quagmire.’
“Brer Yalligater laugh, but he had de laugh all on his side, kaze dat wuz one er de times when Brer Rabbit ain’t feel like gigglin’. He sot dar a-shakin’ an’ a-shiverin’. Bimeby he ’low, sezee, ‘What you gwine do, Brer ’Gater?’ Brer Yalligater, say, sezee, ‘It look like ter me dat sence you sot de dry grass afire, I been havin’ symptoms. Dat what de doctor say. He look at my tongue, an’ feel er my pulsh, an’ shake his head. He say dat bein’s he’s my frien’, he don’t mind tellin’ me dat my symptoms is gittin’ mo’ wusser dan what dey been, an’ ef I don’t take sump’n I’ll be failin’ inter one deze yer inclines what make folks flabby an’ weak.’
“Brer Rabbit, he shuck an’ he shiver’d. He ’low, sezee, ‘What else de doctor say, Brer ’Gater?’ Brer Yalligater keep on a-slippin’ along; he say, sezee, ‘De doctor ain’t only look at my[260] tongue—he medjer’d my breff, an’ he hit me on my bosom—tip-tap-tap!—an’ he say dey ain’t but one thing dat’ll kyo me. I ax ’im what dat is, an’ he say it’s Rabbit gizzard.’ Brer Yalligater slip an’ slide along, an’ wait fer ter see what Brer Rabbit gwineter say ter dat. He ain’t had ter wait long, kaze Brer Rabbit done his thinkin’ like one er deze yer machines what got lightnin’ in it. He ’low, sezee, ‘It’s a mighty good thing you struck up wid me dis day, Brer ’Gater, kaze I got des perzackly de kinder physic what you lookin’ fer. All de neighbors say I’m mighty quare an’ I speck I is, but quare er not quare, I’m long been lookin’ fer de gizzard-eater.’
“Brer Yalligater ain’t say nothin’; he des slide thoo de water, an’ lissen ter what Brer Rabbit sayin’. Brer Rabbit ’low, sezee, ‘De las’ time I wuz tooken sick, de doctor come in a hurry, an’ he sot up wid me all night—not a wink er sleep did dat man git. He say he kin tell by de way I wuz gwine on, rollin’ an’ tossin’, an’ moanin’ an’ groanin’, dat dey wa’n’t no physic gwineter do me no good. I ain’t never see no doctor scratch[261] his head like dat doctor did; he done like he wuz stumped, he sho’ did. He say he ain’t never see nobody wid my kind er trouble, an’ he went off an’ call in one er his brer doctors, an’ de two knock dey heads tergedder, an’ say my trouble all come fum havin’ a double gizzard. When my ol’ ’oman hear dat, she des flung her apron over her head, an’ fell back in a dead faint, an’ a little mo’ an’ I’d ’a’ had ter pay a doctor bill on her accounts. When she squalled, some er my chillun got skeer’d an’ tuck ter de woods, an’ dey ain’t all got back when I lef’ home las’ night.’
“Brer Yalligater, he des went a-slippin’ long thoo de water; he lissen, but he ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Brer Rabbit, he ’low, sezee, ‘It’s de fatal trufe, all dis dat I’m a-tellin’ you. De doctor, he flew’d roun’ twel he fotch my ol’ ’oman to, an’ den he say dey ain’t no needs ter be skittish on accounts er my havin’ a double gizzard, kaze all I had ter do wuz ter be kinder keerful wid my chawin’s an’ gnyawin’s, an’ my comin’s an’ gwines. He say dat I’d hatter suffer wid it twel I fin’ de gizzard-eater. I ax ’im whar[262] bouts is he, an’ he say dat I’d know him when I seed him, an’ ef I fail ter know ’im, he’ll make hisse’f beknown ter me. Dis kinder errytate me, kaze when a man’s a doctor, an’ is got de idee er kyoin’ anybody, dey ain’t no needs ter deal in no riddles. But he say dat tain’t no use fer ter tell all you know, speshually fo’ dinner.’
“Brer Yalligater went a-slidin’ long thoo de water; he lissen an’ smack his mouf, but he ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Brer Rabbit, he talk on; he ’low, sezee, ‘An dey wuz one thing he tol’ me mo’ plainer dan all de rest. He say dat when anybody wuz ’flicted wid de double gizzard, dey dassent cross water wid it, kaze ef dey’s anything dat a double gizzard won’t stan’ it’s de smell er water.’
“Brer Yalligater went slippin’ long thoo de water, but he feel like de time done come when he bleeze ter say sump’n. He say, sezee, ‘How come youer crossin’ water now, ef de doctor tell you dat?’ Dis make Brer Rabbit laugh; he ’low, ‘Maybe I oughtn’t ter tell you, but fo’ I kin cross water dat double gizzard got ter come out.[263] De doctor done tol’ me dat ef she ever smell water, dey’ll be sech a swellin’ up dat my skin won’t hol’ me; an’ no longer dan’ las’ night, ’fo’ I come ter dis creek—’twuz a creek den, whatsomever you may call it now—I tuck out my double gizzard an’ hid it in a hick’ry holler. An’ ef youer de gizzard-eater, now is yo’ chance, kaze ef you put it off, you may rue de day. Ef youer in de notion I’ll take you right dar an’ show you de stump whar I hid it at—er ef you wanter be lonesome ’bout it, I’ll let you go by yo’se’f an’ I’ll stay right here.’
“Brer Yalligater, he slip an’ slide thoo de water. He say, sezee, ‘Whar’d you say you’d stay?’ Brer Rabbit ’low, sezee, ‘I’ll stay right here, Brer ’Gater, er anywhar’s else you may choosen; I don’t keer much whar I stays er what I does, so long ez I get rid er dat double gizzard what’s been a-tarrifyin’ me. You better go by yo’se’f, kaze bad ez dat double gizzard is done me, I got a kinder tendersome feelin’ fer it, an’ I’m fear’d ef I wuz ter go ’long wid you, an’ see you grab it, dey’d be some boo-hooin’ done. Ef[264] you go by yo’se’f, des rap on de stump an’ say—Ef youer ready, I’m ready an’ a little mo’ so, un’ you won’t have no trouble wid her. She’s hid right in dem woods yander, an’ de holler hick’ry stump ain’t so mighty fur fum whar de bank er de creek oughter be.’
“Brer Rabbit make a big jump an’ lan’ on solid ground”
“Brer ’Gater ain’t got much mo’ sense dan what it ’ud take fer ter clim’ a fence atter somebody done pulled it down, an’ so he kinder slew’d hisse’f aroun’, an’ steered fer de woods—de same woods whar dey’s so many trees, an’ whar ol’ Sis Owl starts all de whirl-win’s by fannin’ her wings. Brer Yalligater swum an’ steered, twel he come close ter lan’, an’ when he done dat[265] Brer Rabbit make a big jump an’ lan’ on solid ground. He mought er got his feet wet, but ef he did ’twuz ez much. He ’low, sezee—
“‘You po’ ol’ ’Gater, ef you know’d A fum Izzard,
You’d know mighty well dat I’d keep my Gizzard.’
An’ wid dat, he wuz done gone—done clean gone!”
“It seem like ter me dat I hear somebody say, not longer dan day ’fo’ yistiddy, dat dey’d be mighty glad ef dey could fin’ some un fer ter bet wid um,” said Uncle Remus, staring hard at the little boy, and then suddenly shutting his eyes tight, so that he might keep from laughing at the expression he saw on the child’s face. Receiving no immediate response to his remark, the old man opened his eyes again, and found the little boy regarding him with a puzzled air.
“My mother says it is wrong to bet,” said the child after awhile. He was quite serious, and it was just this aspect of seriousness that made him a little different from another little boy that had been raised at Uncle Remus’s knee. “Mother says that no Christian would want to bet.”
The old man closed his eyes again, as though[244] trying to remember something. He frowned and smacked his mouth before he spoke, “It look like dat I never is ter git de tas’e er dat chicken-pie what yo’ gran’ma sont me out’n my mouf. I dunner when I been had any chicken-pie what stayed wid me like dat chicken-pie. But ’bout dat bettin’,” he remarked, straightening himself in his chair, “I speck I mus’ ’a’ been a-dreamin’. I know mighty well it couldn’t ’a’ been you; so we’ll des up an’ say it wuz little Dreamus, an’ let it go at dat. All I know is dat dey wuz a little chap loungin’ roun’ here tryin’ fer ter l’arn how ter play mumbly-peg wid one er de case-knives what he tuck fum de white folks’ dinner-table, an’ whiles he wuz in de middle er his l’arnin’, de ol’ speckled hen run fum under de house here, an’ sot up a mighty cacklin’, kaze she fear’d some un wuz gwineter interrupt de eggs what she been nussin’ an’ warmin’ up. She cackle, an’ she cackle, an’ den she cackle some mo’ fer ter keep fum fergittin’ how; an’ ’long ’bout dat time, dish yer little boy what I been tellin’ you ’bout—I speck we’ll be bleeze ter call him Dreamus—he[245] up wid a rock an’ flung it right at ’er, an’ ef she’d ’a’ been in de way er de rock, he’d ’a’ come mighty nigh hittin’ her. Dis make de ol’ hen bofe skeer’d an’ fear’d an’ likewise mad, an’ she hitched a squall on ter her cackle, an’ flop her wings. Seein’ dat de hen wuz mad, dis little chap, which he name Dreamus, he got mad, too, an’ he ’lowed, ‘I bet you I make you hush!’ an’ dar dey had it, de ol’ hen runnin’ an’ squallin’, an’ de little chap zoonin’ rocks at her. I speck de hen would ’a’ bet ef she’d ’a’ know’d how—an’ she sho’ would ’a’ won de bet, kaze de las’ news I hear fum ’er she wuz runnin’ an’ squallin’.”
The little boy squirmed uneasily in his chair. He remembered the incident very well, so well that he hardly knew what to say. But after a while, thinking that it was both necessary and polite to say something, he declared that when he made that remark to the hen he knew she wouldn’t understand him, and that what he said about betting was just a saying.
“Dat mought be, honey,” said Uncle Remus, “but don’t you fool yo’se’f ’bout dat hen not[246] knowin’ how ter talk, kaze dey has been times an’ places when de creeturs kin do lots mo’ talkin’ dan folks. When you git ter be ol’ ez what I is, you’ll know dat talkin’ ain’t got nothin’ in de roun’ worl’ ter do wid fedders, an’ needer wid fur. I hear you say you want ter bet wid de ol’ hen, an’ ef you still wantin’ you got a mighty good chance dis day ef de sun is mighty nigh down. I’ll bet you a thrip ag’in a ginger-cake dat when you had yo’ dinner you ain’t fin’ no chicken gizzard in yo’ part er de pie.”
“No,” replied the child, “I didn’t, and when I asked grandmother about it, she said she was going to raise some chickens next year with double gizzards.”
“Did she say dat? Did Miss Sally say dat?” inquired Uncle Remus, laughing delightedly. “Well, suh, dat sho’ do bang my time! How come she ter know dat some er de creeturs got double gizzards? She sho’ is de outdoin’est white ’oman what’s yever been bornded inter de worl’. She done sont me de chicken gizzard des so I kin tell you ’bout de double gizzards an’ de what-nots.[247] Double gizzards! De ve’y name flings me ’way back yander ter ol’ folks an’ ol’ times. Laws-a-massy! I wonder what Miss Sally gwine do nex’; anybody what guess it oughter be president by good rights.” Uncle Remus paused, and lowered his voice to a confidential tone—“She ain’t tell you ’bout de time when de Yallergater wuz honin’ fer ol’ Brer Rabbit’s double gizzards, is she, honey?”
“No, she didn’t tell me that, but she laughed, and when I asked her what she was laughing at, she said I’d find out by the time I was seven feet tall.”
“You hear dat, don’t you?” Uncle Remus spoke as though there were a third person in the room. “What I been tellin’ you all dis time?” and then he laughed as though this third person were laughing with him. “You may try, an’ you may fly, but you never is ter see de beat er Miss Sally.”
“Was grandmother talking about a tale, Uncle Remus? It must have been a very funny one, for she laughed until she had to take off her spectacles and wipe them dry,” said the little boy.
[248]
“Dat’s her! dat’s Miss Sally up an’ down, an’ dey can’t nobody git ahead er her. She know’d mighty well dat time you say sump’n ’bout double gizzards my min’ would fly right back ter de time when de Yalligater wuz dribblin’ at de mouf, an’ ol’ Brer Rabbit wuz shaking in his shoes.”
“If it’s a long story, I’m afraid you haven’t time to tell it now,” suggested the little boy.
The child was so polite that the old negro stood somewhat in awe of him, and he was afraid, too, that it was ominous of some misfortune—there was something uncanny about it from Uncle Remus’s point of view. “Bless you, honey! I got des ez much time ez what dey is—it all b’longs ter me an’ you. Maybe you wanter go some’rs else; maybe you’ll wait twel some yuther day fer de platted whip dat I hear you talkin’ ’bout.”
“No; I’ll wait and get the story and the whip together—if you are not too tired.”
The old negro looked at the little boy from the corner of his eye to see if he was really in earnest.[249] Satisfying himself on that score, he promptly began to plait the whip while he unraveled the story. He seemed to be more serious than usual, but one of the peculiarities of Uncle Remus, as many a child had discovered, was that he was not to be judged by any outward aspect. This is the way he began:
“Ever since I been pirootin’ roun’ in deze low-groun’s, it’s been de talk er dem what know’d dat Brer Rabbit wuz a mighty man at a frolic. I don’t speck he’d show up much in deze days, but in de times when de creeturs wuz bossin’ dey own jobs, Brer Rabbit wuz up fer perty nigh ev’ything dat wuz gwine on ef dey want too much work in it. Dey couldn’t be a dance er a quiltin’ nowhar’s aroun’ but what he’d be dar; he wuz fust ter come an’ last ter go.
“He holla’d fer de man what run de ferry”
“Well, dey wuz one time when he went too fur an’ stayed too late, bekaze a big rain come endurin’ de time when dey wuz playin’ an’ dancin’, an’ when Brer Rabbit put out fer home, he foun’ dat a big freshet done come an’ gone. De dreens had got ter be creeks, de creeks had got ter be[250] rivers, an’ de rivers—well, I ain’t gwine ter tell you what de rivers wuz kaze you’d think dat I done tol’ de trufe good-bye. By makin’ big jumps an’ gwine out er his way, Brer Rabbit manage fer ter git ez close ter home ez de creek, but when he git dar, de creek wuz so wide dat it make him feel like he been los’ so long dat his fambly done fergot him. Many an’ many a time had he cross’ dat creek on a log, but de log done gone, an’ de water wuz spread out all over creation. De water wuz wide, but dat wa’n’t mo’ dan half—it look like it wuz de wettest water dat Brer Rabbit ever lay eyes on.
“Dar wuz ol’ Brer B’ar settin’ at de foot er de tree”
“Dey wuz a ferry dar fer times like dis, but it look like it wuz a bigger fresh dan what dey had counted on. Brer Rabbit, he sot on de bank an’ wipe de damp out’n his face an’ eyes, an’ den he[251] holla’d fer de man what run de ferry. He holla’d an’ holla’d, an’ bimeby, he hear some un answer him, an’ he looked a little closer, an’ dar wuz de man, which his name wuz Jerry, way up in de top lim’s uv a tree; an’ he looked still closer, an’ he seed dat Jerry had company, kaze dar wuz ol’ Brer B’ar settin’ at de foot er de tree, waitin’ fer Jerry fer ter come down so he kin tell ’im howdy.” Uncle Remus paused to see what effect this statement would have on the little boy. The youngster said nothing, but his shrewd smile showed the old man that he fully appreciated the reason why Jerry[252] was in no hurry to shake hands with Brother Bear.
“Well, suh, Brer Rabbit took notice dat dey wuz sump’n mo’ dan dampness ’twix’ um, an he start in ter holla again, an’ he holla’d so loud, an’ he holla’d so long, dat he woke up ol’ Brer Yalligater. Now, it ain’t make ol’ Brer Yalligater feel good fer ter be wokened up at dat hour, kaze he’d des had a nice supper er pine-knots an’ sweet ’taters, an’ he wuz layin’ out at full lenk on his mud bed. He ’low ter hisse’f, he did, ‘Who in de nation is dis tryin’ fer ter holla de bottom out er de creek?’ He lissen, an’ den he turn over an’ lissen ag’in. He shot one eye, an’ den he shot de yuther one, but dey ain’t no sleepin’ in dat neighberhood. Jerry in de tree, he holla back, ‘Can’t come—got comp’ny!’
“Brer Yalligater, he hear dis, an’ he say ter hisse’f dat ef nobody can’t come, he kin, an’ he riz ter de top wid no mo’ fuss dan a fedder-bed makes when you let it ’lone. He riz, he did, an’ his two eyes look des perzackly like two bullets floatin’ on de water. He riz an’ wunk his eye, an’[253] ax Brer Rabbit howdy, an’ mo’ speshually how is his daughter. Brer Rabbit, he say dat dey ain’t no tellin’ how his daughter is, kaze when he lef’ home her head wuz a-swellin’. He say dat some er de neighbors’ chillun come by an’ flung rocks at her an’ one un um hit her on top er de head right whar de cow-lick is, an’ he hatter run atter de doctor.
“He riz an’ wunk his eye, an’ ax Brer Rabbit howdy”
“Brer Yalligater ’low, ‘You don’t tell me, Brer Rabbit, dat it’s come ter dis! Yo’ chillun gittin’ chunked by yo’ neighbors’ chillun! Well, well, well! I wish you’d tell me wharbouts it’s all a-gwine ter een’ at. Why, it’ll git so atter while dat dey ain’t no peace anywhar’s ’ceppin at my house in de bed er de creek.’
[254]
“Brer Rabbit say, ‘Ain’t it de trufe? An’ not only does Brer Fox chillun chunk my chillun on dey cow-licks, but no sooner is I gone atter de doctor dan here come de creek a-risin’. I may be wrong, but I ain’t skeer’d ter say dat it beats anything I yever is lay eyes on. Over yander in de fur woods is what my daughter is layin’ wid de headache, an’ here’s her pa, an’ ’twix’ us is de b’ilin’ creek. Ef I wuz ter try ter wade, ten ter one de water would be over my head, an’ ef not dat bad, all de pills what de doctor gi’ me would melt in my pocket. An’ dey might pizen me, kaze de doctor ain’t say dey wuz ter be tuck outside.’
“‘Ef you think you kin stay in one place long enough, I’ll try ter put you ’cross de creek’”
“Ol’ Brer Yalligater float on de water like he[255] ain’t weigh no mo’ dan one er deze yer postitch stomps, an’ he try ter drop a tear. He groan, he did, an’ float backerds an’ forrerds like a tired canoe. He say, ‘Brer Rabbit, ef dey yever wuz a rover you is one. Up you come an’ off you go, an’ dey ain’t no mo’ keepin’ up wid you dan ef you had wings. Ef you think you kin stay in one place long enough, I’ll try ter put you ’cross de creek. Brer Rabbit kinder rub his chin whiles he wiggle his nose. He ’low, sezee, ‘Brer ’Gater, how deep is dat water what you floatin’ in?’ Brer Yalligater say, sezee, ‘Brer Rabbit, ef me an’ my ol’ ’oman wuz ter jine heads, an’ I wuz ter stan’ on de tip-een’ my tail, dey’ll still be room enough fer all er my chillun ’fo’ we totch bottom.’
“Brer Rabbit, he fell back like he gwineter faint. He ’low, ‘Brer ’Gater, you don’t tell me! You sholy don’t mean dem last words! Why, you make me feel like I’m furder fum home and dem what’s done lost fer good! How de name er goodness you gwineter put me ’cross dis slippery water?’ Brer Yalligater, he blow a bubble or two out’n his nose, an’ den he say, sezee, ‘Ef you kin[256] stay still in one place long ’nough, I’m gwineter take you ’cross on my back. You nee’nter say thanky, yit I want you ter know dat I ain’t eve’ybody’s water-hoss.’ Brer Rabbit he ’low, sezee, ‘I kin well b’lieve dat, Brer ’Gater, but somehow, I kinder got a notion dat yo’ tail mighty limber. I hear ol’ folks say dat you kin knock a chip fum de back er yo’ head wid de tip-een’ er yo’ tail an’ never haf try.’ Brer Yalligater smack his mouf, an’ say, sezee, ‘Limber my tail may be, Brer Rabbit, an’ fur-reachin’, but don’t blame me. It wuz dat a-way when it wuz ’gun ter me. It’s all j’inted up ’cordin’ ter natur.’
“Brer Rabbit, he study an’ study, an’ de mo’ he study, de wuss he like it. But he bleeze ter go home—dey wa’n’t no two ways ’bout dat—an’ he ’low, sezee, ‘I speck what you say is some’rs in de neighborhoods er de trufe, Brer ’Gater, an’ mo’ dan dat, I b’lieve I’ll go ’long wid you. Ef you’ll ride up a leetle closer, I’ll make up my mind so I won’t keep you waitin’.’ Brer Yalligater, he float by de side er de bank same ez a cork out’n a pickle bottle. He ain’t do like he[257] in a hurry, kaze he drapt a word er two about de wedder, an’ he say dat de water wuz mighty col’ down dar in de slushes. But Brer Rabbit tuck notice dat when he smole one er his smiles, he show’d up a double row er tushes, dat look like dey’d do mighty good work in a saw-mill. Brer Rabbit, he ’gun ter shake like he havin’ a chill; he ’low, ‘I feel dat damp, Brer ’Gater, dat I mought des ez well be in water up ter my chin!’ Brer Yalligater ain’t say nothin’, but he can’t hide his tushes. Brer Rabbit look up, he look down, an’ he look all aroun’. He ain’t skacely know what ter do. He ’low, ‘Brer ’Gater, yo’ back mighty roughnin’; how I gwine ter ride on it?’ Brer Yalligater say, sezee, ‘De roughnin’ will he’p you ter hol’ on, kaze you’ll hatter ride straddle. You kin des fit yo’ foots on de bumps an’ kinder brace yo’se’f when you think you see a log floatin’ at us. You kin des set up dar same ez ef you wuz settin’ at home in yo’ rockin’-cheer.
“‘Brer ’Gater, ef I ain’t mighty much mistooken, you ain’t headin’ fer de lan’in’’”
“Brer Rabbit shuck his head, but he got on, he did, an’ he ain’t no sooner git on dan he wish mighty hard he wuz off. Brer Yalligater say,[258] sezee. ‘You kin pant ef you wanter, Brer Rabbit, but I’ll do de paddlin’,’ an’ den he slip thoo de water des like he greased. Brer Rabbit sho’ wuz skeer’d but he keep his eye open, an’ bimeby he tuck notice dat Brer Yalligater wa’n’t makin’ fer de place whar de lan’in’s at, an’ he up an’ sesso. He ’low, ‘Brer ’Gater, ef I ain’t mighty much mistooken, you ain’t headin’ fer de lan’in’.’ Brer Yalligater say, sezee, ‘You sho’ is got mighty good eyes, Brer Rabbit. I been waitin’ fer you a long time, an’ I’m de wust kinder waiter. I most know you ain’t ferget dat day in de stubble, when you say you gwineter show me ol’ man Trouble. Well, you ain’t only show ’im ter me, but you made me shake han’s wid ’im. You sot de dry[259] grass afire, an’ burn me scandalious. Dat de reason my back so rough, an’ dat de reason my hide so tough. Well, I been a-waitin’ sence dat time, an’ now here you is. You burn me twel I hatter squench de burnin’ in de big quagmire.’
“Brer Yalligater laugh, but he had de laugh all on his side, kaze dat wuz one er de times when Brer Rabbit ain’t feel like gigglin’. He sot dar a-shakin’ an’ a-shiverin’. Bimeby he ’low, sezee, ‘What you gwine do, Brer ’Gater?’ Brer Yalligater, say, sezee, ‘It look like ter me dat sence you sot de dry grass afire, I been havin’ symptoms. Dat what de doctor say. He look at my tongue, an’ feel er my pulsh, an’ shake his head. He say dat bein’s he’s my frien’, he don’t mind tellin’ me dat my symptoms is gittin’ mo’ wusser dan what dey been, an’ ef I don’t take sump’n I’ll be failin’ inter one deze yer inclines what make folks flabby an’ weak.’
“Brer Rabbit, he shuck an’ he shiver’d. He ’low, sezee, ‘What else de doctor say, Brer ’Gater?’ Brer Yalligater keep on a-slippin’ along; he say, sezee, ‘De doctor ain’t only look at my[260] tongue—he medjer’d my breff, an’ he hit me on my bosom—tip-tap-tap!—an’ he say dey ain’t but one thing dat’ll kyo me. I ax ’im what dat is, an’ he say it’s Rabbit gizzard.’ Brer Yalligater slip an’ slide along, an’ wait fer ter see what Brer Rabbit gwineter say ter dat. He ain’t had ter wait long, kaze Brer Rabbit done his thinkin’ like one er deze yer machines what got lightnin’ in it. He ’low, sezee, ‘It’s a mighty good thing you struck up wid me dis day, Brer ’Gater, kaze I got des perzackly de kinder physic what you lookin’ fer. All de neighbors say I’m mighty quare an’ I speck I is, but quare er not quare, I’m long been lookin’ fer de gizzard-eater.’
“Brer Yalligater ain’t say nothin’; he des slide thoo de water, an’ lissen ter what Brer Rabbit sayin’. Brer Rabbit ’low, sezee, ‘De las’ time I wuz tooken sick, de doctor come in a hurry, an’ he sot up wid me all night—not a wink er sleep did dat man git. He say he kin tell by de way I wuz gwine on, rollin’ an’ tossin’, an’ moanin’ an’ groanin’, dat dey wa’n’t no physic gwineter do me no good. I ain’t never see no doctor scratch[261] his head like dat doctor did; he done like he wuz stumped, he sho’ did. He say he ain’t never see nobody wid my kind er trouble, an’ he went off an’ call in one er his brer doctors, an’ de two knock dey heads tergedder, an’ say my trouble all come fum havin’ a double gizzard. When my ol’ ’oman hear dat, she des flung her apron over her head, an’ fell back in a dead faint, an’ a little mo’ an’ I’d ’a’ had ter pay a doctor bill on her accounts. When she squalled, some er my chillun got skeer’d an’ tuck ter de woods, an’ dey ain’t all got back when I lef’ home las’ night.’
“Brer Yalligater, he des went a-slippin’ long thoo de water; he lissen, but he ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Brer Rabbit, he ’low, sezee, ‘It’s de fatal trufe, all dis dat I’m a-tellin’ you. De doctor, he flew’d roun’ twel he fotch my ol’ ’oman to, an’ den he say dey ain’t no needs ter be skittish on accounts er my havin’ a double gizzard, kaze all I had ter do wuz ter be kinder keerful wid my chawin’s an’ gnyawin’s, an’ my comin’s an’ gwines. He say dat I’d hatter suffer wid it twel I fin’ de gizzard-eater. I ax ’im whar[262] bouts is he, an’ he say dat I’d know him when I seed him, an’ ef I fail ter know ’im, he’ll make hisse’f beknown ter me. Dis kinder errytate me, kaze when a man’s a doctor, an’ is got de idee er kyoin’ anybody, dey ain’t no needs ter deal in no riddles. But he say dat tain’t no use fer ter tell all you know, speshually fo’ dinner.’
“Brer Yalligater went a-slidin’ long thoo de water; he lissen an’ smack his mouf, but he ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Brer Rabbit, he talk on; he ’low, sezee, ‘An dey wuz one thing he tol’ me mo’ plainer dan all de rest. He say dat when anybody wuz ’flicted wid de double gizzard, dey dassent cross water wid it, kaze ef dey’s anything dat a double gizzard won’t stan’ it’s de smell er water.’
“Brer Yalligater went slippin’ long thoo de water, but he feel like de time done come when he bleeze ter say sump’n. He say, sezee, ‘How come youer crossin’ water now, ef de doctor tell you dat?’ Dis make Brer Rabbit laugh; he ’low, ‘Maybe I oughtn’t ter tell you, but fo’ I kin cross water dat double gizzard got ter come out.[263] De doctor done tol’ me dat ef she ever smell water, dey’ll be sech a swellin’ up dat my skin won’t hol’ me; an’ no longer dan’ las’ night, ’fo’ I come ter dis creek—’twuz a creek den, whatsomever you may call it now—I tuck out my double gizzard an’ hid it in a hick’ry holler. An’ ef youer de gizzard-eater, now is yo’ chance, kaze ef you put it off, you may rue de day. Ef youer in de notion I’ll take you right dar an’ show you de stump whar I hid it at—er ef you wanter be lonesome ’bout it, I’ll let you go by yo’se’f an’ I’ll stay right here.’
“Brer Yalligater, he slip an’ slide thoo de water. He say, sezee, ‘Whar’d you say you’d stay?’ Brer Rabbit ’low, sezee, ‘I’ll stay right here, Brer ’Gater, er anywhar’s else you may choosen; I don’t keer much whar I stays er what I does, so long ez I get rid er dat double gizzard what’s been a-tarrifyin’ me. You better go by yo’se’f, kaze bad ez dat double gizzard is done me, I got a kinder tendersome feelin’ fer it, an’ I’m fear’d ef I wuz ter go ’long wid you, an’ see you grab it, dey’d be some boo-hooin’ done. Ef[264] you go by yo’se’f, des rap on de stump an’ say—Ef youer ready, I’m ready an’ a little mo’ so, un’ you won’t have no trouble wid her. She’s hid right in dem woods yander, an’ de holler hick’ry stump ain’t so mighty fur fum whar de bank er de creek oughter be.’
“Brer Rabbit make a big jump an’ lan’ on solid ground”
“Brer ’Gater ain’t got much mo’ sense dan what it ’ud take fer ter clim’ a fence atter somebody done pulled it down, an’ so he kinder slew’d hisse’f aroun’, an’ steered fer de woods—de same woods whar dey’s so many trees, an’ whar ol’ Sis Owl starts all de whirl-win’s by fannin’ her wings. Brer Yalligater swum an’ steered, twel he come close ter lan’, an’ when he done dat[265] Brer Rabbit make a big jump an’ lan’ on solid ground. He mought er got his feet wet, but ef he did ’twuz ez much. He ’low, sezee—
“‘You po’ ol’ ’Gater, ef you know’d A fum Izzard,
You’d know mighty well dat I’d keep my Gizzard.’
An’ wid dat, he wuz done gone—done clean gone!”
C157. Why Mr. Dog Is Tame (original spelling)
14. Why Mr. Dog Is Tame. Text Source: Told by Uncle Remus by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. You can click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.
There were quite a number of dogs on the plantation—foxhounds, harriers, a sheep dog, and two black-and-tan hounds that had been trained to tree coons and ’possums. In these, the little boy took an abiding interest, and he soon came to know the name and history of each individual dog. There was Jonah, son of Hodo, leader of the foxhounds, Jewel, leader of the harriers, and Walter, the sheep dog, who drove up the cows and hogs every evening. Indeed, it was not long before the little boy knew as much about the dogs as Uncle Remus did.
He imagined he knew more, for one day he informed the old man that once upon a time all dogs were wild, and roamed about the woods and fields just as the wild animals do now.
[231]
“You see me settin’ here,” Uncle Remus remarked; “well, suh, ol’ ez I is, I’d like mighty well ter fin’ out how you come ter know ’bout deze happenin’s way back yander.”
The little boy made no secret of the matter; he answered with pride that his mother had been reading to him out of a great big book with pictures in it. Uncle Remus stretched his arms above his head, and opened wide his eyes. Astonishment took possession of his countenance. The child laughed with delight when he saw the amazement of Uncle Remus. “Yes,” he went on, “mother read about all the wild animals. The book said that when the dogs were wild they used to go in droves, just as the wolves do now.”
“Yasser, dat’s so!” exclaimed Uncle Remus with admiration, “an’ ef you keep on like you gwine, ’twon’t be long ’fo’ you’ll know lot’s mo’ ’bout de creeturs dan what I does—lot’s mo’.” Then he became confidential—“Wuz dey anything in de big book, honey, ’bout de time dat de Dog start in fer ter live wid Mr. Man?” The little boy shook his head. If there was anything about[232] it in the big book from which his mother had been reading, she had kept it to herself.
“Well, I’m mighty glad dey ain’t nothin’ in dar ’bout it, kaze ef dey had ’a’ been, I’d ’a’ been bleeze ter gi’ up my job, kaze when dey gits ter puttin’ tales in a book, dat’s a sign.”
“A sign of what, Uncle Remus?”
“Des a sign, honey—a plain sign. Ef you dunner what a sign is, I’ll never tell you.”
“When did the Dog begin to live with Mr. Man?” the little boy inquired. “Once he was wild, and now he is tame. How did he become tame?”
“Ah-yi! den you got de idee dat ol’ man Remus know sump’n n’er what ain’t down in de books?”
“Why, you asked me if there was anything in the big book that told about the time when the Dog went to live with Mr. Man,” the little boy replied.
“Dat’s what I done,” exclaimed Uncle Remus with a laugh. “An’ I done it kaze I laid off ter tel you ’bout it one er deze odd-come-shorts when de[233] moon ridin’ high, an’ de win’ playin’ a chune in de big pine.”
“Why not tell it now?” the little boy asked.
“Le’ me see, is I well er is I sick? Is I full er is I hongry? Ef I done fergot what I had fer dinner day ’fo’ yistiddy, den ’tain’t no use fer ter try ter tell a tale ’bout ol’ times. Wuz it cake? No, ’twant cake. Wuz it chicken-pie? No, ’twant chicken-pie. What, den? Ah-h-h! Now I knows: ’Twuz tater custard, an’ it seem like I kin tas’e it yit. Yasser! Day ’fo’ yistiddy wuz so long ago dat it look like a dream.”
“It wasn’t any dream,” the little boy declared. “Mother wouldn’t let me have any at the house, and when grandmother sent your dinner, she put two pieces of potato custard on a plate, and you said that one of them was for me.”
“An’ you e’t it,” Uncle Remus declared; “you e’t it, an’ you liked it so well dat you sot yo’ eye on my piece, an’ ef I hadn’t ’a’ grabbed it, I boun’ I wouldn’t ’a’ had no tater custard.”
The little boy laughed and blushed. “How did you know I wanted the other piece?” he asked.
[234]
“I know it by my nose an’ my two big toes,” Uncle Remus replied. “Put a boy in smellin’ distance uv a piece er tater custard, an’ it seem like de custard will fly up an’ hit him in de mouf, no matter how much he try ter dodge.”
Uncle Remus paused and pulled a raveling from his shirt-sleeve, looking at the little boy meanwhile.
“I know very well you haven’t forgotten the story,” remarked the child, “for grandmother says you never forgot anything, especially the old-time tales.”
“Well, suh, I speck she knows. She been knowin’ me ev’ry sence she wuz a baby gal, an’ mo’ dan dat, she know right p’int blank what I’m a-thinkin’ ’bout when she kin git her eye on me.”
“And she says she never caught you tellin’ a fib.”
“Is she say dat?” Uncle Remus inquired with a broad grin. “Ef she did, I’m lots sharper dan I looks ter be, kaze many and many’s de time when I been skeer’d white, thinkin’ she done cotch me. Tooby sho’, tooby sho’!”
[235]
“But what about the Dog, Uncle Remus?”
“What dog, honey? Oh, you’ll hatter scuzen me—I’m lots older dan what I looks ter be. You mean de Dog what tuck up at Mr. Man’s house. Well, ol’ Brer Dog wuz e’en about like he is deze days, scratchin’ fer fleas, an’ growlin’ over his vittles stidder sayin’ grace, an’ berryin’ de bones when he had one too many. He wuz des like he is now, ’ceppin’ dat he wuz wil’. He galloped wid Brer Fox, an’ loped wid Brer Wolf, an’ cantered wid Brer Coon. He went all de gaits, an’ he had dez ez good a time ez any un um, an’ des ez bad a time.
“Now, one day, some’rs ’twix’ Monday mornin’ an’ Saddy night, he wuz settin’ in de shade scratchin’ hisse’f, an’ he wuz tooken wid a spell er thinkin’. He’d des come thoo a mighty hard winter wid de yuther creeturs, an’ he up an’ say ter hisse’f dat ef he had ter do like dat one mo’ season, it’d be de en’ er him an’ his fambly. You could count his ribs, an’ his hip-bones stuck out like de horns on a hat-rack.
“Whiles he wuz settin’ dar, scratchin’ an’[236] studyin’, an’ studyin’ an’ scratchin’, who should come meanderin’ down de big road but ol’ Brer Wolf; an’ it ’uz ‘Hello, Brer Dog! you look like you ain’t seed de inside uv a smokehouse fer quite a whet. I ain’t sayin’ dat I got much fer ter brag on, kaze I ain’t in no better fix dan what you is. De colder it gits, de skacer de vittles grows.’ An’ den he ax Brer Dog whar he gwine an’ how soon he gwineter git dar. Brer Dog make answer dat it don’t make no diffunce whar he go ef he don’t fin’ dinner ready.
“Brer Wolf ’low dat de way ter git dinner is ter make a fier, kaze ’tain’t no use fer ter try ter eat ef dey don’t do dat. Ef dey don’t git nothin’ fer ter cook, dey’ll have a place whar dey kin keep warm. Brer Dog say he see whar Brer Wolf is dead right, but whar dey gwine git a fier? Brer Wolf say de quickest way is ter borry a chunk fum Mr. Man er his ol’ ’oman. But when it come ter sayin’ who gwine atter it, dey bofe kinder hung back, kaze dey know’d dat Mr. Man had a walkin’-cane what he kin p’int at anybody an’ snap a cap on it an’ blow de light right out.
[237]
“But bimeby, Brer Dog say’ll go atter de chunk er fier, an’ he ain’t no mo’ dan say dat, ’fo’ off he put, an’ he travel so peart, dat ’twant long ’fo’ he come ter Mr. Man’s house. When he got ter de gate he sot down an’ done some mo’ studyin’, an’ ef de gate had ’a’ been shot, he’d ’a’ turned right roun’ an’ went back like he come; but some er de chillun had been playin’ out in de yard, an’ dey lef’ de gate open, an so dar ’twuz. Study ez he mought, he can’t fin’ no skuce fer gwine back widout de chunk er fier. An’ in he went.
“Well, talk ’bout folks bein’ ’umble; you ain’t seed no ’umble-come-tumble twel you see Brer Dog when he went in dat gate. He ain’t take time fer ter look roun’, he so skeer’d. He hear hogs a-gruntin’ an’ pigs a-squealin’, he hear hens a-cacklin’ an’ roosters crowin’, but he ain’t turn his head. He had sense ’nuff not ter go in de house by de front way. He went roun’ de back way whar de kitchen wuz, an’ when he got dar he ’fraid ter go any furder. He went ter de do’, he did, an’ he ’fraid ter knock. He hear chillun laughin’ an’[238] playin’ in dar, an’ fer de fust time in all his born days, he ’gun ter feel lonesome.
“Bimeby, some un open de do’ an’ den shot it right quick. But Brer Dog ain’t see nobody; he ’uz too ’umble-come-tumble fer dat. He wuz lookin’ at de groun’, an’ wonderin’ what ’uz gwineter happen nex’. It must ’a’ been one er de chillun what open de do’, kaze ’twant long ’fo’ here come Mr. Man wid de walkin’-cane what had fier in it. He come ter de do’, he did, an’ he say, ‘What you want here?’ Brer Dog wuz too skeer’d fer ter talk; all he kin do is ter des wag his tail. Mr. Man, he ’low, ‘You in de wrong house, an’ you better go on whar you got some business.’
“Brer Dog, he crouch down close ter de groun’, an’ wag his tail. Mr. Man, he look at ’im, an’ he ain’t know whedder fer ter turn loose his gun er not, but his ol’ ’oman, she hear him talkin’, an’ she come ter de do’, an’ see Brer Dog crouchin’ dar, ’umbler dan de’ ’umblest, an’ she say, ‘Po’ feller! you ain’t gwine ter hurt nobody, is you?’ an’ Brer Dog ’low, ‘No, ma’am, I ain’t; I des[239] come fer ter borry a chunk er fier.’ An’ she say, ‘What in de name er goodness does you want wid fier? Is you gwine ter burn us out’n house an’ home?’ Brer Dog ’low, ‘No, ma’am! dat I ain’t; I des wanter git warm.’ Den de ’oman say, ‘I clean fergot ’bout de col’ wedder—come in de kitchen here an’ warm yo’se’f much ez you wanter.’
“Dat wuz mighty good news fer Brer Dog, an’ in he went. Dey wuz a nice big fier on de h’ath, an’ de chillun wuz settin’ all roun’ eatin’ der dinner. Dey make room fer Brer Dog, an’ down he sot in a warm cornder, an’ ’twant long ’fo’ he wuz feelin’ right splimmy-splammy. But he wuz mighty hongry. He sot dar, he did, an’ watch de chillun’ eatin’ der ashcake an’ buttermilk, an’ his eyeballs ’ud foller eve’y mouffle dey e’t. De ’oman, she notice dis, an’ she went ter de cubberd an’ got a piece er warm ashcake, an’ put it down on de h’ath.
“Brer Dog ain’t need no secon’ invite—he des gobble up de ashcake ’fo’ you kin say Jack Robberson wid yo’ mouf shot. He ain’t had nigh[240] nuff, but he know’d better dan ter show what his appetites wuz. He ’gun ter feel good, an’ den he got down on his hunkers, an’ lay his head down on his fo’paws, an’ make like he gwine ter sleep. Atter ’while, he smell Brer Wolf, an’ he raise his head an’ look todes de do’. Mr. Man he tuck notice, an’ he say he b’lieve dey’s some un sneakin’ roun’. Brer Dog raise his head, an’ snuff todes de do’, an’ growl ter hisse’f. So Mr. Man tuck down his gun fum over de fireplace, an’ went out. De fust thing he see when he git out in de yard wuz Brer Wolf runnin’ out de gate, an’ he up wid his gun—bang!—an’ he hear Brer Wolf holler. All he got wuz a han’ful er ha’r, but he come mighty nigh gittin’ de whole hide.
“Well, atter dat, Mr. Man fin’ out dat Brer Dog could do ’im a heap er good, fus’ one way an’ den an’er. He could head de cows off when dey make a break thoo de woods, he could take keer er de sheep, an’ he could warn Mr. Man when some er de yuther creeturs wuz prowlin’ roun’. An’ den he wuz some comp’ny when Mr.[241] Man went huntin’. He could trail de game, an’ he could fin’ his way home fum anywheres; an’ he could play wid de chillun des like he wuz one un um.
“’Twant long ’fo’ he got fat, an’ one day when he wuz amblin’ in de woods, he meet up wid Brer Wolf. He howdied at ’im, he did, but Brer Wolf won’t skacely look at ’im. Atter ’while he say, ‘Brer Dog, why ’n’t you come back dat day when you went atter fier?’ Brer Dog p’int ter de collar on his neck. He ’low, ‘You see dis? Well, it’ll tell you lots better dan what I kin.’ Brer Wolf say,’You mighty fat. Why can’t I come dar an’ do like you does?’ Brer Dog ’low, ‘Dey ain’t nothin’ fer ter hinder you.’
“So de next mornin’, bright an’ early, Brer Wolf knock at Mr. Man’s do’. Mr. Man peep out an’ see who ’tis, an’ tuck down his gun an’ went out. Brer Wolf try ter be perlite, an’ he smile. But when he smile he show’d all his tushes, an’ dis kinder skeer Mr. Man. He say, ‘What you doin’ sneakin’ roun’ here?’ Brer Wolf try ter be mo’ perliter dan ever, an’ he grin fum year ter[242] year. Dis show all his tushes, an’ Mr. Man lammed aloose at ’im. An’ dat ’uz de las’ time dat Brer Wolf ever try ter live wid Mr. Man, an fum dat time on down ter dis day, it ’uz war ’twix Brer Wolf an’ Brer Dog.”
[243]
There were quite a number of dogs on the plantation—foxhounds, harriers, a sheep dog, and two black-and-tan hounds that had been trained to tree coons and ’possums. In these, the little boy took an abiding interest, and he soon came to know the name and history of each individual dog. There was Jonah, son of Hodo, leader of the foxhounds, Jewel, leader of the harriers, and Walter, the sheep dog, who drove up the cows and hogs every evening. Indeed, it was not long before the little boy knew as much about the dogs as Uncle Remus did.
He imagined he knew more, for one day he informed the old man that once upon a time all dogs were wild, and roamed about the woods and fields just as the wild animals do now.
[231]
“You see me settin’ here,” Uncle Remus remarked; “well, suh, ol’ ez I is, I’d like mighty well ter fin’ out how you come ter know ’bout deze happenin’s way back yander.”
The little boy made no secret of the matter; he answered with pride that his mother had been reading to him out of a great big book with pictures in it. Uncle Remus stretched his arms above his head, and opened wide his eyes. Astonishment took possession of his countenance. The child laughed with delight when he saw the amazement of Uncle Remus. “Yes,” he went on, “mother read about all the wild animals. The book said that when the dogs were wild they used to go in droves, just as the wolves do now.”
“Yasser, dat’s so!” exclaimed Uncle Remus with admiration, “an’ ef you keep on like you gwine, ’twon’t be long ’fo’ you’ll know lot’s mo’ ’bout de creeturs dan what I does—lot’s mo’.” Then he became confidential—“Wuz dey anything in de big book, honey, ’bout de time dat de Dog start in fer ter live wid Mr. Man?” The little boy shook his head. If there was anything about[232] it in the big book from which his mother had been reading, she had kept it to herself.
“Well, I’m mighty glad dey ain’t nothin’ in dar ’bout it, kaze ef dey had ’a’ been, I’d ’a’ been bleeze ter gi’ up my job, kaze when dey gits ter puttin’ tales in a book, dat’s a sign.”
“A sign of what, Uncle Remus?”
“Des a sign, honey—a plain sign. Ef you dunner what a sign is, I’ll never tell you.”
“When did the Dog begin to live with Mr. Man?” the little boy inquired. “Once he was wild, and now he is tame. How did he become tame?”
“Ah-yi! den you got de idee dat ol’ man Remus know sump’n n’er what ain’t down in de books?”
“Why, you asked me if there was anything in the big book that told about the time when the Dog went to live with Mr. Man,” the little boy replied.
“Dat’s what I done,” exclaimed Uncle Remus with a laugh. “An’ I done it kaze I laid off ter tel you ’bout it one er deze odd-come-shorts when de[233] moon ridin’ high, an’ de win’ playin’ a chune in de big pine.”
“Why not tell it now?” the little boy asked.
“Le’ me see, is I well er is I sick? Is I full er is I hongry? Ef I done fergot what I had fer dinner day ’fo’ yistiddy, den ’tain’t no use fer ter try ter tell a tale ’bout ol’ times. Wuz it cake? No, ’twant cake. Wuz it chicken-pie? No, ’twant chicken-pie. What, den? Ah-h-h! Now I knows: ’Twuz tater custard, an’ it seem like I kin tas’e it yit. Yasser! Day ’fo’ yistiddy wuz so long ago dat it look like a dream.”
“It wasn’t any dream,” the little boy declared. “Mother wouldn’t let me have any at the house, and when grandmother sent your dinner, she put two pieces of potato custard on a plate, and you said that one of them was for me.”
“An’ you e’t it,” Uncle Remus declared; “you e’t it, an’ you liked it so well dat you sot yo’ eye on my piece, an’ ef I hadn’t ’a’ grabbed it, I boun’ I wouldn’t ’a’ had no tater custard.”
The little boy laughed and blushed. “How did you know I wanted the other piece?” he asked.
[234]
“I know it by my nose an’ my two big toes,” Uncle Remus replied. “Put a boy in smellin’ distance uv a piece er tater custard, an’ it seem like de custard will fly up an’ hit him in de mouf, no matter how much he try ter dodge.”
Uncle Remus paused and pulled a raveling from his shirt-sleeve, looking at the little boy meanwhile.
“I know very well you haven’t forgotten the story,” remarked the child, “for grandmother says you never forgot anything, especially the old-time tales.”
“Well, suh, I speck she knows. She been knowin’ me ev’ry sence she wuz a baby gal, an’ mo’ dan dat, she know right p’int blank what I’m a-thinkin’ ’bout when she kin git her eye on me.”
“And she says she never caught you tellin’ a fib.”
“Is she say dat?” Uncle Remus inquired with a broad grin. “Ef she did, I’m lots sharper dan I looks ter be, kaze many and many’s de time when I been skeer’d white, thinkin’ she done cotch me. Tooby sho’, tooby sho’!”
[235]
“But what about the Dog, Uncle Remus?”
“What dog, honey? Oh, you’ll hatter scuzen me—I’m lots older dan what I looks ter be. You mean de Dog what tuck up at Mr. Man’s house. Well, ol’ Brer Dog wuz e’en about like he is deze days, scratchin’ fer fleas, an’ growlin’ over his vittles stidder sayin’ grace, an’ berryin’ de bones when he had one too many. He wuz des like he is now, ’ceppin’ dat he wuz wil’. He galloped wid Brer Fox, an’ loped wid Brer Wolf, an’ cantered wid Brer Coon. He went all de gaits, an’ he had dez ez good a time ez any un um, an’ des ez bad a time.
“Now, one day, some’rs ’twix’ Monday mornin’ an’ Saddy night, he wuz settin’ in de shade scratchin’ hisse’f, an’ he wuz tooken wid a spell er thinkin’. He’d des come thoo a mighty hard winter wid de yuther creeturs, an’ he up an’ say ter hisse’f dat ef he had ter do like dat one mo’ season, it’d be de en’ er him an’ his fambly. You could count his ribs, an’ his hip-bones stuck out like de horns on a hat-rack.
“Whiles he wuz settin’ dar, scratchin’ an’[236] studyin’, an’ studyin’ an’ scratchin’, who should come meanderin’ down de big road but ol’ Brer Wolf; an’ it ’uz ‘Hello, Brer Dog! you look like you ain’t seed de inside uv a smokehouse fer quite a whet. I ain’t sayin’ dat I got much fer ter brag on, kaze I ain’t in no better fix dan what you is. De colder it gits, de skacer de vittles grows.’ An’ den he ax Brer Dog whar he gwine an’ how soon he gwineter git dar. Brer Dog make answer dat it don’t make no diffunce whar he go ef he don’t fin’ dinner ready.
“Brer Wolf ’low dat de way ter git dinner is ter make a fier, kaze ’tain’t no use fer ter try ter eat ef dey don’t do dat. Ef dey don’t git nothin’ fer ter cook, dey’ll have a place whar dey kin keep warm. Brer Dog say he see whar Brer Wolf is dead right, but whar dey gwine git a fier? Brer Wolf say de quickest way is ter borry a chunk fum Mr. Man er his ol’ ’oman. But when it come ter sayin’ who gwine atter it, dey bofe kinder hung back, kaze dey know’d dat Mr. Man had a walkin’-cane what he kin p’int at anybody an’ snap a cap on it an’ blow de light right out.
[237]
“But bimeby, Brer Dog say’ll go atter de chunk er fier, an’ he ain’t no mo’ dan say dat, ’fo’ off he put, an’ he travel so peart, dat ’twant long ’fo’ he come ter Mr. Man’s house. When he got ter de gate he sot down an’ done some mo’ studyin’, an’ ef de gate had ’a’ been shot, he’d ’a’ turned right roun’ an’ went back like he come; but some er de chillun had been playin’ out in de yard, an’ dey lef’ de gate open, an so dar ’twuz. Study ez he mought, he can’t fin’ no skuce fer gwine back widout de chunk er fier. An’ in he went.
“Well, talk ’bout folks bein’ ’umble; you ain’t seed no ’umble-come-tumble twel you see Brer Dog when he went in dat gate. He ain’t take time fer ter look roun’, he so skeer’d. He hear hogs a-gruntin’ an’ pigs a-squealin’, he hear hens a-cacklin’ an’ roosters crowin’, but he ain’t turn his head. He had sense ’nuff not ter go in de house by de front way. He went roun’ de back way whar de kitchen wuz, an’ when he got dar he ’fraid ter go any furder. He went ter de do’, he did, an’ he ’fraid ter knock. He hear chillun laughin’ an’[238] playin’ in dar, an’ fer de fust time in all his born days, he ’gun ter feel lonesome.
“Bimeby, some un open de do’ an’ den shot it right quick. But Brer Dog ain’t see nobody; he ’uz too ’umble-come-tumble fer dat. He wuz lookin’ at de groun’, an’ wonderin’ what ’uz gwineter happen nex’. It must ’a’ been one er de chillun what open de do’, kaze ’twant long ’fo’ here come Mr. Man wid de walkin’-cane what had fier in it. He come ter de do’, he did, an’ he say, ‘What you want here?’ Brer Dog wuz too skeer’d fer ter talk; all he kin do is ter des wag his tail. Mr. Man, he ’low, ‘You in de wrong house, an’ you better go on whar you got some business.’
“Brer Dog, he crouch down close ter de groun’, an’ wag his tail. Mr. Man, he look at ’im, an’ he ain’t know whedder fer ter turn loose his gun er not, but his ol’ ’oman, she hear him talkin’, an’ she come ter de do’, an’ see Brer Dog crouchin’ dar, ’umbler dan de’ ’umblest, an’ she say, ‘Po’ feller! you ain’t gwine ter hurt nobody, is you?’ an’ Brer Dog ’low, ‘No, ma’am, I ain’t; I des[239] come fer ter borry a chunk er fier.’ An’ she say, ‘What in de name er goodness does you want wid fier? Is you gwine ter burn us out’n house an’ home?’ Brer Dog ’low, ‘No, ma’am! dat I ain’t; I des wanter git warm.’ Den de ’oman say, ‘I clean fergot ’bout de col’ wedder—come in de kitchen here an’ warm yo’se’f much ez you wanter.’
“Dat wuz mighty good news fer Brer Dog, an’ in he went. Dey wuz a nice big fier on de h’ath, an’ de chillun wuz settin’ all roun’ eatin’ der dinner. Dey make room fer Brer Dog, an’ down he sot in a warm cornder, an’ ’twant long ’fo’ he wuz feelin’ right splimmy-splammy. But he wuz mighty hongry. He sot dar, he did, an’ watch de chillun’ eatin’ der ashcake an’ buttermilk, an’ his eyeballs ’ud foller eve’y mouffle dey e’t. De ’oman, she notice dis, an’ she went ter de cubberd an’ got a piece er warm ashcake, an’ put it down on de h’ath.
“Brer Dog ain’t need no secon’ invite—he des gobble up de ashcake ’fo’ you kin say Jack Robberson wid yo’ mouf shot. He ain’t had nigh[240] nuff, but he know’d better dan ter show what his appetites wuz. He ’gun ter feel good, an’ den he got down on his hunkers, an’ lay his head down on his fo’paws, an’ make like he gwine ter sleep. Atter ’while, he smell Brer Wolf, an’ he raise his head an’ look todes de do’. Mr. Man he tuck notice, an’ he say he b’lieve dey’s some un sneakin’ roun’. Brer Dog raise his head, an’ snuff todes de do’, an’ growl ter hisse’f. So Mr. Man tuck down his gun fum over de fireplace, an’ went out. De fust thing he see when he git out in de yard wuz Brer Wolf runnin’ out de gate, an’ he up wid his gun—bang!—an’ he hear Brer Wolf holler. All he got wuz a han’ful er ha’r, but he come mighty nigh gittin’ de whole hide.
“Well, atter dat, Mr. Man fin’ out dat Brer Dog could do ’im a heap er good, fus’ one way an’ den an’er. He could head de cows off when dey make a break thoo de woods, he could take keer er de sheep, an’ he could warn Mr. Man when some er de yuther creeturs wuz prowlin’ roun’. An’ den he wuz some comp’ny when Mr.[241] Man went huntin’. He could trail de game, an’ he could fin’ his way home fum anywheres; an’ he could play wid de chillun des like he wuz one un um.
“’Twant long ’fo’ he got fat, an’ one day when he wuz amblin’ in de woods, he meet up wid Brer Wolf. He howdied at ’im, he did, but Brer Wolf won’t skacely look at ’im. Atter ’while he say, ‘Brer Dog, why ’n’t you come back dat day when you went atter fier?’ Brer Dog p’int ter de collar on his neck. He ’low, ‘You see dis? Well, it’ll tell you lots better dan what I kin.’ Brer Wolf say,’You mighty fat. Why can’t I come dar an’ do like you does?’ Brer Dog ’low, ‘Dey ain’t nothin’ fer ter hinder you.’
“So de next mornin’, bright an’ early, Brer Wolf knock at Mr. Man’s do’. Mr. Man peep out an’ see who ’tis, an’ tuck down his gun an’ went out. Brer Wolf try ter be perlite, an’ he smile. But when he smile he show’d all his tushes, an’ dis kinder skeer Mr. Man. He say, ‘What you doin’ sneakin’ roun’ here?’ Brer Wolf try ter be mo’ perliter dan ever, an’ he grin fum year ter[242] year. Dis show all his tushes, an’ Mr. Man lammed aloose at ’im. An’ dat ’uz de las’ time dat Brer Wolf ever try ter live wid Mr. Man, an fum dat time on down ter dis day, it ’uz war ’twix Brer Wolf an’ Brer Dog.”
[243]
Thursday, July 16, 2015
C156. Brother Rabbit and Brother Bull-Frog (original spelling)
13. Brother Rabbit and Brother Bull-Frog. Text Source: Told by Uncle Remus by Joel Chandler Harris. Online at Project Gutenberg. You can click here for the standardized spelling plus all notes to the story.
The day that the little boy got permission to go to mill with Uncle Remus was to be long remembered. It was a bran new experience to the city-bred child, and he enjoyed it to the utmost. It is true that Uncle Remus didn’t go to mill in the old-fashioned way, but even if the little chap had known of the old-fashioned way, his enjoyment would not have been less. Instead of throwing a bag of corn on the back of a horse, and perching himself on top in an uneasy and a precarious position, Uncle Remus placed the corn in a spring wagon, helped the little boy to climb into the seat, clucked to the horse, and went along as smoothly and as rapidly as though they were going to town.
Everything was new to the lad—the road, the scenery, the mill, and the big mill-pond, and, best[206] of all, Uncle Remus allowed him to enjoy himself in his own way when they came to the end of their journey. He was such a cautious and timid child, having little or none of the spirit of adventure that is supposed to dominate the young, that the old negro was sure he would come to no harm. Instead of wandering about, and going to places where he had no business to go, the little boy sat where he could see the water flowing over the big dam. He had never seen such a sight before, and the water seemed to him to have a personality of its own—a personality with both purpose and feeling.
The river was not a very large one, but it was large enough to be impressive when its waters fell and tumbled over the big dam. The little boy watched the tumbling water as it fell over the dam and tossed itself into foam on the rocks below; he watched it so long, and he sat so still that he was able to see things that a noisier youngster would have missed altogether. He saw a big bull-frog creep warily from the water, and wipe his mouth and eyes with one of his fore legs[207] and he saw the same frog edge himself softly toward a white butterfly that was flitting about near the edge of the stream. He saw the frog lean forward, and then the butterfly vanished. It seemed like a piece of magic. The child knew that the frog had caught the butterfly, but how? The fluttering insect was more than a foot from the frog when it disappeared, and he was sure that the frog had neither jumped nor snapped at the butterfly. What he saw, he saw as plainly as you can see your hand in the light of day.
And he saw another sight too that is not given to every one to see. While he was watching the tumbling water, and wondering where it all came from and where it was going, he thought he saw swift-moving shadows flitting from the water below up and into the mill-pond above. He never would have been able to discover just what the shadows were if one of them had not paused a moment while half-way to the top of the falling water. It poised itself for one brief instant, as a humming-bird poises over a flower, but during that fraction of time the little boy was able to see[208] that what he thought was a shadow was really a fish going from the water below to the mill-pond above. The child could hardly believe his eyes, and for a little while it seemed that the whole world was turned topsy-turvy, especially as the shadows continued to flit from the water below to the mill-pond above.
And he was still more puzzled when he reported the strange fact to Uncle Remus, for the old negro took the information as a matter of course. With him the phenomenon was almost as old as his experience. The only explanation that he could give of it was that the fish—or some kinds of fish, and he didn’t know rightly what kind it was—had a habit of falling from the bottom of the falls to the top. The most that he knew was that it was a fact, and that it was occurring every day in the year when the fish were running. It was certainly wonderful, as in fact everything would be wonderful if it were not so familiar.
“We ain’t got but one way er lookin’ at things,” remarked Uncle Remus, “an’ ef you’ll b’lieve me, honey, it’s a mighty one-sided way.[209] Ef you could git on a perch some’rs an’ see things like dey reely is, an’ not like dey seem ter us, I be boun’ you’d hol’ yo’ breff an’ shet yo’ eyes.”
The old man, without intending it, was going too deep into a deep subject for the child to follow him, and so the latter told him about the bull-frog and the butterfly. The statement seemed to call up pleasing reminiscences, for Uncle Remus laughed in a very hearty way. And when his laughing had subsided, he continued to chuckle until the little boy wondered what the source of his amusement could be. Finally he asked the old negro point blank what had caused him to laugh at such a rate.
“Yo’ pa would ’a’ know’d,” Uncle Remus replied, and then he grew solemn again and sighed heavily. For a little while he seemed to be listening to the clatter of the mill, but, finally, he turned to the little boy. “An’ so you done made de ’quaintance er ol’ Brer Bull-Frog? Is you take notice whedder he had a tail er no?”
“Why, of course he didn’t have a tail!” exclaimed the child. “Neither toad-frogs nor[210] bull-frogs have tails. I thought everybody knew that.”
“Oh, well, ef dat de way you feel ’bout um, ’tain’t no use fer ter pester wid um. It done got so now dat folks don’t b’lieve nothin’ but what dey kin see, an’ mo’ dan half un um won’t b’lieve what dey see less ’n dey kin feel un it too. But dat ain’t de way wid dem what’s ol’ ’nough fer ter know. Ef I’d ’a’ tol’ you ’bout de fishes swimmin’ ag’in fallin’ water, you wouldn’t ’a’ b’lieved me, would you? No, you wouldn’t—an’ yit, dar ’twuz right ’fo’ yo’ face an’ eyes. Dar dey wuz a-skeetin’ fum de bottom er de dam right up in de mill-pon’, an’ you settin’ dar lookin’ at um. S’posin’ you wuz ter say dat you won’t b’lieve um less’n you kin feel um; does you speck de fish gwineter hang dar in de fallin’ water an’ wait twel you kin wade ’cross de slipp’y rocks an’ put yo’ han’ on um? Did you look right close fer ter see ef de bull-frog what you seed is got a tail er no?”
The little boy admitted that he had not. He knew as well as anybody that no kind of a frog[211] has a tail, unless it is the Texas frog, which is only a horned lizard, for he saw one once in Atlanta, and it was nothing but a rusty-back lizard with a horn on his head.
“I ain’t ’sputin’ what you say, honey,” said Uncle Remus, “but de creetur what you seed mought ’a’ been a frog an’ you not know it. One thing I does know is dat in times gone by de bull-frog had a tail, kaze I hear de ol’ folks sesso, an’ mo’ dan dat, dey know’d des how he los’ it—de whar, an’ de when, an’ de which-away. Fer all I know it wuz right here at dish yer identual mill-pon’. I ain’t gwine inter court an’ make no affledave on it, but ef anybody wuz ter walk up an’ p’int der finger at me, an’ say dat dis is de place whar ol’ Brer Bull-Frog lose his tail, I’d up an’ ’low, ‘Yasser, it mus’ be de place, kaze it look might’ly like de place what I been hear tell ’bout.’ An’ den I’d shet my eyes an’ see ef I can’t git it straight in my dream.”
Uncle Remus paused, and pretended to be counting a handful of red grains of corn that he had found somewhere in the mill. Seeing that he[212] showed no disposition to tell how Brother Bull-Frog had lost his tail, the little boy reminded him of it. But the old man laughed. “Ef Brer Bull-Frog ain’t never had no tail,” he said, “how de name er goodness he gwineter lose um? Ef he yever is had a tail, why den dat’s a gray hoss uv an’er color. Dey’s a tale ’bout ’im havin’ a tail an’ losin’ it, but how kin dey be a tale when dey ain’t no tail?”
Well, the little boy didn’t know at all, and he looked so disconsolate and so confused that the old negro relented. “Now, den,” he remarked, “ef ol’ Brer Bull-Frog had a tail an’ he ain’t got none now, dey must ’a’ been sump’n happen. In dem times—de times what all deze tales tells you ’bout—Brer Bull-Frog stayed in an’ aroun’ still water des like he do now. De bad col’ dat he had in dem days, he’s got it yit—de same pop-eyes, an’ de same bal’ head. Den, ez now, dey wa’n’t a bunch er ha’r on it dat you could pull out wid a pa’r er tweezers. Ez he bellers now, des dat a-way he bellered den, mo’ speshually at night. An’ talk ’bout settin’ up late—why, ol’ Brer[213] Bull-Frog could beat dem what fust got in de habits er settin’ up late.
“De yuther creeturs can’t git no sleep”
“Dey’s one thing dat you’ll hatter gi’ ’im credit fer, an’ dat wuz keepin’ his face an’ han’s[214] clean, an’ in takin’ keer er his cloze. Nobody, not even his mammy, had ter patch his britches er tack buttons on his coat. See ’im whar you may an’ when you mought, he wuz allers lookin’ spick an’ span des like he done come right out’n a ban’-box. You know what de riddle say ’bout ’im; when he stan’ up he sets down, an’ when he walks he hops. He’d ’a’ been mighty well thunk un, ef it hadn’t but ’a’ been fer his habits. He holler so much at night dat de yuther creeturs can’t git no sleep. He’d holler an’ holler, an’ ’bout de time you think he bleeze ter be ’shame’ er hollerin’ so much, he’d up an’ holler ag’in. It got so dat de creeturs hatter go ’way off some’rs ef dey wanter git any sleep, an’ it seem like dey can’t git so fur off but what Brer Bull-Frog would wake um up time dey git ter dozin’ good.
“He’d set an’ lissen, … an’ den he’d laugh fit ter kill”
“He’d raise up an’ ’low, ‘Here I is! Here I is! Wharbouts is you? Wharbouts is you? Come along! Come along!’ It ’uz des dat a-way de whole blessed night, an’ de yuther creeturs, dey say dat it sholy was a shame dat anybody would set right flat-footed an’ ruin der good name. Look like he[215] pestered ev’ybody but ol’ Brer Rabbit, an’ de reason dat he liked it wuz kaze it worried de yuther creeturs. He’d set an’ lissen, ol’ Brer Rabbit would, an’ den he’d laugh fit ter kill kaze he ain’t a-keerin’ whedder[216] er no he git any sleep er not. Ef dey’s anybody what kin set up twel de las’ day in de mornin’ an’ not git red-eyed an’ heavy-headed, it’s ol’ Brer Rabbit. When he wanter sleep, he’d des shet one eye an’ sleep, an’ when he wanter stay ’wake, he’d des open bofe eyes, an’ dar he wuz wid all his foots under ’im, an’ a-chawin’ his terbacker same ez ef dey wa’n’t no Brer Bull-Frog in de whole Nunited State er Georgy.
“His way led ’im down todes de mill-pon’”
“It went on dis way fer I dunner how long—ol’ Brer Bull-Frog a-bellerin’ all night long an’ keepin’ de yuther creeturs ’wake, an’ Brer Rabbit a-laughin’. But, bimeby, de time come when Brer Rabbit hatter lay in some mo’ calamus root, ag’in de time when ’twould be too col’ fer ter dig it, an’ when he went fer ter hunt fer it, his way led ’im down todes de mill-pon’ whar Brer Bull-Frog live at. Dey wuz calamus root a-plenty down dar, an’ Brer Rabbit, atter lookin’ de groun’ over, promise hisse’f dat he’d fetch a basket de nex’ time he come, an’ make one trip do fer two. He ain’t been down dar long ’fo’ he had a good chance[217] fer ter hear Brer Bull-Frog at close range. He hear him, he did, an’ he shake his head an’ say dat a mighty little bit er dat music would go a long ways, kaze dey ain’t nobody what kin stan’ flat-footed an’ say dat Brer Bull-Frog is a better singer dan de mockin’-bird.
[218]
“He lissen ag’in, an’ hear Brer Bull-Frog mumblin’ an grumblin’”
“Well, whiles Brer Rabbit wuz pirootin’ roun’ fer ter see what mought be seed, he git de idee dat he kin hear thunder way off yander. He lissen ag’in, an’ he hear Brer Bull-Frog mumblin’ an’ grumblin’ ter hisse’f, an’ he must ’a’ had a mighty bad col’, kaze his talk soun’ des like a bummil-eye bee been kotch in a sugar-barrel an’ can’t git[219] out. An’ dat creetur must ’a’ know’d dat Brer Rabbit wuz down in dem neighborhoods, kaze, atter while, he ’gun to talk louder, an’ yit mo’ louder. He say, ‘Whar you gwine? Whar you gwine?’ an’ den, ‘Don’t go too fur—don’t go too fur!’ an’, atter so long a time, ‘Come back—come back! Come back soon!’ Brer Rabbit, he sot dar, he did, an’ work his nose an’ wiggle his mouf, an’ wait fer ter see what gwineter happen nex’.
“Whiles Brer Rabbit settin’ dar, Brer Bull-Frog fall ter mumblin’ ag’in an’ it look like he ’bout ter drap off ter sleep, but bimeby he talk louder, ‘Be my frien’—be my frien’! Oh, be my frien’!’ Brer Rabbit wunk one eye an’ smole a smile, kaze he done hear a heap er talk like dat. He wipe his face an’ eyes wid his pocket-hankcher, an’ sot so still dat you’d ’a’ thunk he wa’n’t nothin’ but a chunk er wood. But Brer Bull-Frog, he know’d how ter stay still hisse’f, an’ he ain’t so much ez bubble a bubble. But atter whiles, when Brer Rabbit can’t stay still no mo’, he got up fum whar he wuz settin’ at an’ mosied[220] out by de mill-race whar de grass is fresh an’ de trees is green.
“Brer Bull-Frog holla, ‘Jug-er-rum—jug-er-rum! Wade in here—I’ll gi’ you some!’ Now dey ain’t nothin’ dat ol’ Brer Rabbit like better dan a little bit er dram fer de stomach-ache, an’ his mouf ’gun ter water right den an’ dar. He went a little closer ter de mill-pon’, an’ Brer Bull-Frog keep on a-talkin’ ’bout de jug er rum, an’ what he gwine do ef Brer Rabbit will wade in dar. He look at de water, an’ it look mighty col’; he look ag’in an’ it look mighty deep. It say, ‘Lap-lap!’ an’ it look like it’s a-creepin’ higher. Brer Rabbit drawed back wid a shiver, an’ he wish mighty much dat he’d ’a’ fotch his overcoat.
“In he went—kerchug!”
“Brer Bull-Frog say, ‘Knee deep—knee deep! Wade in—wade in!’ an’ he make de water bubble des like he takin’ a dram. Den an’ dar, sump’n n’er happen, an’ how it come ter happen Brer Rabbit never kin tell; but he peeped in de pon’ fer ter see ef he kin ketch a glimp er de jug, an’ in he went—kerchug! He ain’t never know whedder he fall in, er slip in, er ef he was pushed[221] in, but dar he wuz! He come mighty nigh not gittin out; but he scramble an’ he scuffle twel he git[222] back ter de bank whar he kin clim’ out, an’ he stood dar, he did, an’ kinder shuck hisse’f, kaze he mighty glad fer ter fin’ dat he’s in de worl’ once mo’. He know’d dat a leetle mo’ an’ he’d ’a’ been gone fer good, kaze when he drapped in, er jumped in, er fell in, he wuz over his head an’ years, an’ he hatter do a sight er kickin’ an’ scufflin’ an’ swallerin’ water ’fo’ he kin git whar he kin grab de grass on de bank.
“He wonder how in de worl’ dat plain water kin be so watery”
“He sneeze an’ snoze, an’ wheeze an’ whoze, twel it look like he’d drown right whar he wuz stan’in’ any way you kin fix it. He say ter hisse’f dat he ain’t never gwineter git de tas’e er river water outer his mouf an’ nose, an’ he wonder how in de worl’ dat plain water kin be so watery. Ol’ Brer Bull-Frog, he laugh like a bull in de pastur’,[223] an’ Brer Rabbit gi’ a sidelong look dat oughter tol’ ’im ez much ez a map kin tell one er deze yer school scholars. Brer Rabbit look at ’im, but he ain’t say narry a word. He des shuck hisse’f once mo’, an’ put out fer home whar he kin set in front er de fire an’ git dry.
“Atter dat day, Brer Rabbit riz mighty soon an’ went ter bed late, an’ he watch Brer Bull-Frog so close dat dey wa’n’t nothin’ he kin do but what Brer Rabbit know ’bout it time it ’uz done; an’ one thing he know’d better dan all—he know’d dat when de winter time come Brer Bull-Frog would have ter pack up his duds an’ move over in de bog whar de water don’t git friz up. Dat much he know’d, an’ when dat time come, he laid off fer ter make Brer Bull-Frog’s journey, short ez it wuz, ez full er hap’nin’s ez de day when de ol’ cow went dry. He tuck an’ move his bed an’ board ter de big holler poplar, not fur fum de mill-pon’, an’ dar he stayed an’ keep one eye on Brer Bull-Frog bofe night an’ day. He ain’t lose no flesh whiles he waitin’, kaze he ain’t one er deze yer kin’ what mopes an’ gits sollumcolly;[224] he wuz all de time 'twixt a grin an’ a giggle.
“He know’d mighty well—none better—dat time goes by turns in deze low groun’s, an’ he wait fer de day when Brer Bull-Frog gwineter move his belongin’s fum pon’ ter bog. An’ bimeby dat time come, an’ when it come, Brer Bull-Frog is done fergit off’n his mind all ’bout Brer Rabbit an’ his splashification. He rig hisse’f out in his Sunday best, an’ he look kerscrumptious ter dem what like dat kinder doin’s. He had on a little sojer hat wid green an’ white speckles all over it, an’ a long green coat, an’ satin britches, an’ a white silk wescut, an’ shoes wid silver buckles. Mo’ dan dat, he had a green umbrell, fer ter keep fum havin’ freckles, an’ his long spotted tail wuz done up in de umbrell kivver so dat it won’t drag on de groun’.”
Uncle Remus paused to see what the little boy would say to this last statement, but the child’s training prevented the asking of many questions, and so he only laughed at the idea of a frog with a tail, and the tail done up in the cover of a green[225] umbrella. The laughter of the youngster was hearty enough to satisfy the old negro, and he went on with the story.
“Whiles all dis gwine on, honey, you better b’lieve dat Brer Rabbit wa’n’t so mighty fur fum dar. When Brer Bull-Frog come out an’ start fer ter promenade ter de bog, Brer Rabbit show hisse’f an’ make like he skeered. He broke an’ run, an’ den he stop fer ter see what ’tis—an’ den he run a leetle ways an’ stop ag’in, an’ he keep on dodgin’ an’ runnin’ twel he fool Brer Bull-Frog inter b’lievin’ dat he wuz skeer’d mighty nigh ter death.
“You know how folks does when dey git de idee dat somebody’s ’fear’d un um—ef you don’t you’ll fin’ out long ’fo’ yo’ whiskers gits ter hangin’ to yo’ knees. When folks take up dis idee, dey gits biggity, an’ dey ain’t no stayin’ in de same country wid um.
[226]
“He shuck his umbrell’ like he mad”
[227]
“Well, Brer Bull-Frog, he git de idee dat Brer Rabbit wuz ’fear’d un ’im, an’ he shuck his umbrell like he mad, an’ he beller: ‘Whar my gun?’ Brer Rabbit flung up bofe han’s like he wuz skeer’d er gittin’ a load er shot in his vitals, an’ den he broke an’ run ez hard ez he kin. Brer Bull-Frog holler out, ‘Come yer, you vilyun, an’ le’ me gi’ you de frailin’ what I done promise you!’ but ol’ Brer Rabbit, he keep on a-gwine. Brer Bull-Frog went hoppin’ atter, but he ain’t make much headway, kaze all de time he wuz hoppin’ he wuz tryin’ to strut.
“’Twuz e’en about ez much ez Brer Rabbit kin do fer ter keep fum laughin’, but he led Brer Bull-Frog ter de holler poplar, whar he had his hatchet hid. Ez he went in, he ’low, ‘You can’t git me!’ He went in, he did, an’ out he popped on t’er side. By dat time Brer Bull-Frog wuz mighty certain an’ sho dat Brer Rabbit wuz skeer’d ez he kin be, an’ inter de holler he went, widout so much ez takin’ de trouble ter shet up his umbrell. When he got in de holler, in co’se he ain’t see hide ner ha’r er Brer Rabbit, an’ he beller out, ‘Whar is you? You may hide, but I’ll fin’ you, an’ when I does—when I does!’ He ain’t say all he wanter say, kaze by dat time Brer Rabbit wuz lammin’ on de tree wid his hatchet. He hit it some[228] mighty heavy whacks, an’ Brer Bull-Frog git de idee dat somebody wuz cuttin’ it down.
“Brer Rabbit run roun’ ter whar he wuz an’ chop his tail off”
[229]
“Dis kinder skeer’d ’im, kaze he know dat ef de tree fell while he in de holler, it’d be all-night Isom wid him. But when he make a move fer ter turn roun’ in dar fer ter come out, Brer Rabbit run roun’ ter whar he wuz, an’ chop his tail off right smick-smack-smoove.”
The veteran story-teller paused, and looked at the clouds that were gathering in the sky. “’Twouldn’t ’stonish me none,” he remarked dryly, “ef we wuz ter have some fallin’ wedder.”
“But, Uncle Remus, what happened when Brother Rabbit cut off the Bull-Frog’s tail?” inquired the little boy.
The old man sighed heavily, and looked around, as if he were hunting for some way of escape. “Why, honey, when de Frog tail wuz cut off, it stayed off, but dey tells me dat it kep’ on a wigglin’ plum twel de sun went down. Dis much I does know, dat sence dat day, none er de Frog fambly has been troubled wid tails. Ef you don’t believe me you kin ketch um an’ see.”
The day that the little boy got permission to go to mill with Uncle Remus was to be long remembered. It was a bran new experience to the city-bred child, and he enjoyed it to the utmost. It is true that Uncle Remus didn’t go to mill in the old-fashioned way, but even if the little chap had known of the old-fashioned way, his enjoyment would not have been less. Instead of throwing a bag of corn on the back of a horse, and perching himself on top in an uneasy and a precarious position, Uncle Remus placed the corn in a spring wagon, helped the little boy to climb into the seat, clucked to the horse, and went along as smoothly and as rapidly as though they were going to town.
Everything was new to the lad—the road, the scenery, the mill, and the big mill-pond, and, best[206] of all, Uncle Remus allowed him to enjoy himself in his own way when they came to the end of their journey. He was such a cautious and timid child, having little or none of the spirit of adventure that is supposed to dominate the young, that the old negro was sure he would come to no harm. Instead of wandering about, and going to places where he had no business to go, the little boy sat where he could see the water flowing over the big dam. He had never seen such a sight before, and the water seemed to him to have a personality of its own—a personality with both purpose and feeling.
The river was not a very large one, but it was large enough to be impressive when its waters fell and tumbled over the big dam. The little boy watched the tumbling water as it fell over the dam and tossed itself into foam on the rocks below; he watched it so long, and he sat so still that he was able to see things that a noisier youngster would have missed altogether. He saw a big bull-frog creep warily from the water, and wipe his mouth and eyes with one of his fore legs[207] and he saw the same frog edge himself softly toward a white butterfly that was flitting about near the edge of the stream. He saw the frog lean forward, and then the butterfly vanished. It seemed like a piece of magic. The child knew that the frog had caught the butterfly, but how? The fluttering insect was more than a foot from the frog when it disappeared, and he was sure that the frog had neither jumped nor snapped at the butterfly. What he saw, he saw as plainly as you can see your hand in the light of day.
And he saw another sight too that is not given to every one to see. While he was watching the tumbling water, and wondering where it all came from and where it was going, he thought he saw swift-moving shadows flitting from the water below up and into the mill-pond above. He never would have been able to discover just what the shadows were if one of them had not paused a moment while half-way to the top of the falling water. It poised itself for one brief instant, as a humming-bird poises over a flower, but during that fraction of time the little boy was able to see[208] that what he thought was a shadow was really a fish going from the water below to the mill-pond above. The child could hardly believe his eyes, and for a little while it seemed that the whole world was turned topsy-turvy, especially as the shadows continued to flit from the water below to the mill-pond above.
And he was still more puzzled when he reported the strange fact to Uncle Remus, for the old negro took the information as a matter of course. With him the phenomenon was almost as old as his experience. The only explanation that he could give of it was that the fish—or some kinds of fish, and he didn’t know rightly what kind it was—had a habit of falling from the bottom of the falls to the top. The most that he knew was that it was a fact, and that it was occurring every day in the year when the fish were running. It was certainly wonderful, as in fact everything would be wonderful if it were not so familiar.
“We ain’t got but one way er lookin’ at things,” remarked Uncle Remus, “an’ ef you’ll b’lieve me, honey, it’s a mighty one-sided way.[209] Ef you could git on a perch some’rs an’ see things like dey reely is, an’ not like dey seem ter us, I be boun’ you’d hol’ yo’ breff an’ shet yo’ eyes.”
The old man, without intending it, was going too deep into a deep subject for the child to follow him, and so the latter told him about the bull-frog and the butterfly. The statement seemed to call up pleasing reminiscences, for Uncle Remus laughed in a very hearty way. And when his laughing had subsided, he continued to chuckle until the little boy wondered what the source of his amusement could be. Finally he asked the old negro point blank what had caused him to laugh at such a rate.
“Yo’ pa would ’a’ know’d,” Uncle Remus replied, and then he grew solemn again and sighed heavily. For a little while he seemed to be listening to the clatter of the mill, but, finally, he turned to the little boy. “An’ so you done made de ’quaintance er ol’ Brer Bull-Frog? Is you take notice whedder he had a tail er no?”
“Why, of course he didn’t have a tail!” exclaimed the child. “Neither toad-frogs nor[210] bull-frogs have tails. I thought everybody knew that.”
“Oh, well, ef dat de way you feel ’bout um, ’tain’t no use fer ter pester wid um. It done got so now dat folks don’t b’lieve nothin’ but what dey kin see, an’ mo’ dan half un um won’t b’lieve what dey see less ’n dey kin feel un it too. But dat ain’t de way wid dem what’s ol’ ’nough fer ter know. Ef I’d ’a’ tol’ you ’bout de fishes swimmin’ ag’in fallin’ water, you wouldn’t ’a’ b’lieved me, would you? No, you wouldn’t—an’ yit, dar ’twuz right ’fo’ yo’ face an’ eyes. Dar dey wuz a-skeetin’ fum de bottom er de dam right up in de mill-pon’, an’ you settin’ dar lookin’ at um. S’posin’ you wuz ter say dat you won’t b’lieve um less’n you kin feel um; does you speck de fish gwineter hang dar in de fallin’ water an’ wait twel you kin wade ’cross de slipp’y rocks an’ put yo’ han’ on um? Did you look right close fer ter see ef de bull-frog what you seed is got a tail er no?”
The little boy admitted that he had not. He knew as well as anybody that no kind of a frog[211] has a tail, unless it is the Texas frog, which is only a horned lizard, for he saw one once in Atlanta, and it was nothing but a rusty-back lizard with a horn on his head.
“I ain’t ’sputin’ what you say, honey,” said Uncle Remus, “but de creetur what you seed mought ’a’ been a frog an’ you not know it. One thing I does know is dat in times gone by de bull-frog had a tail, kaze I hear de ol’ folks sesso, an’ mo’ dan dat, dey know’d des how he los’ it—de whar, an’ de when, an’ de which-away. Fer all I know it wuz right here at dish yer identual mill-pon’. I ain’t gwine inter court an’ make no affledave on it, but ef anybody wuz ter walk up an’ p’int der finger at me, an’ say dat dis is de place whar ol’ Brer Bull-Frog lose his tail, I’d up an’ ’low, ‘Yasser, it mus’ be de place, kaze it look might’ly like de place what I been hear tell ’bout.’ An’ den I’d shet my eyes an’ see ef I can’t git it straight in my dream.”
Uncle Remus paused, and pretended to be counting a handful of red grains of corn that he had found somewhere in the mill. Seeing that he[212] showed no disposition to tell how Brother Bull-Frog had lost his tail, the little boy reminded him of it. But the old man laughed. “Ef Brer Bull-Frog ain’t never had no tail,” he said, “how de name er goodness he gwineter lose um? Ef he yever is had a tail, why den dat’s a gray hoss uv an’er color. Dey’s a tale ’bout ’im havin’ a tail an’ losin’ it, but how kin dey be a tale when dey ain’t no tail?”
Well, the little boy didn’t know at all, and he looked so disconsolate and so confused that the old negro relented. “Now, den,” he remarked, “ef ol’ Brer Bull-Frog had a tail an’ he ain’t got none now, dey must ’a’ been sump’n happen. In dem times—de times what all deze tales tells you ’bout—Brer Bull-Frog stayed in an’ aroun’ still water des like he do now. De bad col’ dat he had in dem days, he’s got it yit—de same pop-eyes, an’ de same bal’ head. Den, ez now, dey wa’n’t a bunch er ha’r on it dat you could pull out wid a pa’r er tweezers. Ez he bellers now, des dat a-way he bellered den, mo’ speshually at night. An’ talk ’bout settin’ up late—why, ol’ Brer[213] Bull-Frog could beat dem what fust got in de habits er settin’ up late.
“De yuther creeturs can’t git no sleep”
“Dey’s one thing dat you’ll hatter gi’ ’im credit fer, an’ dat wuz keepin’ his face an’ han’s[214] clean, an’ in takin’ keer er his cloze. Nobody, not even his mammy, had ter patch his britches er tack buttons on his coat. See ’im whar you may an’ when you mought, he wuz allers lookin’ spick an’ span des like he done come right out’n a ban’-box. You know what de riddle say ’bout ’im; when he stan’ up he sets down, an’ when he walks he hops. He’d ’a’ been mighty well thunk un, ef it hadn’t but ’a’ been fer his habits. He holler so much at night dat de yuther creeturs can’t git no sleep. He’d holler an’ holler, an’ ’bout de time you think he bleeze ter be ’shame’ er hollerin’ so much, he’d up an’ holler ag’in. It got so dat de creeturs hatter go ’way off some’rs ef dey wanter git any sleep, an’ it seem like dey can’t git so fur off but what Brer Bull-Frog would wake um up time dey git ter dozin’ good.
“He’d set an’ lissen, … an’ den he’d laugh fit ter kill”
“He’d raise up an’ ’low, ‘Here I is! Here I is! Wharbouts is you? Wharbouts is you? Come along! Come along!’ It ’uz des dat a-way de whole blessed night, an’ de yuther creeturs, dey say dat it sholy was a shame dat anybody would set right flat-footed an’ ruin der good name. Look like he[215] pestered ev’ybody but ol’ Brer Rabbit, an’ de reason dat he liked it wuz kaze it worried de yuther creeturs. He’d set an’ lissen, ol’ Brer Rabbit would, an’ den he’d laugh fit ter kill kaze he ain’t a-keerin’ whedder[216] er no he git any sleep er not. Ef dey’s anybody what kin set up twel de las’ day in de mornin’ an’ not git red-eyed an’ heavy-headed, it’s ol’ Brer Rabbit. When he wanter sleep, he’d des shet one eye an’ sleep, an’ when he wanter stay ’wake, he’d des open bofe eyes, an’ dar he wuz wid all his foots under ’im, an’ a-chawin’ his terbacker same ez ef dey wa’n’t no Brer Bull-Frog in de whole Nunited State er Georgy.
“His way led ’im down todes de mill-pon’”
“It went on dis way fer I dunner how long—ol’ Brer Bull-Frog a-bellerin’ all night long an’ keepin’ de yuther creeturs ’wake, an’ Brer Rabbit a-laughin’. But, bimeby, de time come when Brer Rabbit hatter lay in some mo’ calamus root, ag’in de time when ’twould be too col’ fer ter dig it, an’ when he went fer ter hunt fer it, his way led ’im down todes de mill-pon’ whar Brer Bull-Frog live at. Dey wuz calamus root a-plenty down dar, an’ Brer Rabbit, atter lookin’ de groun’ over, promise hisse’f dat he’d fetch a basket de nex’ time he come, an’ make one trip do fer two. He ain’t been down dar long ’fo’ he had a good chance[217] fer ter hear Brer Bull-Frog at close range. He hear him, he did, an’ he shake his head an’ say dat a mighty little bit er dat music would go a long ways, kaze dey ain’t nobody what kin stan’ flat-footed an’ say dat Brer Bull-Frog is a better singer dan de mockin’-bird.
[218]
“He lissen ag’in, an’ hear Brer Bull-Frog mumblin’ an grumblin’”
“Well, whiles Brer Rabbit wuz pirootin’ roun’ fer ter see what mought be seed, he git de idee dat he kin hear thunder way off yander. He lissen ag’in, an’ he hear Brer Bull-Frog mumblin’ an’ grumblin’ ter hisse’f, an’ he must ’a’ had a mighty bad col’, kaze his talk soun’ des like a bummil-eye bee been kotch in a sugar-barrel an’ can’t git[219] out. An’ dat creetur must ’a’ know’d dat Brer Rabbit wuz down in dem neighborhoods, kaze, atter while, he ’gun to talk louder, an’ yit mo’ louder. He say, ‘Whar you gwine? Whar you gwine?’ an’ den, ‘Don’t go too fur—don’t go too fur!’ an’, atter so long a time, ‘Come back—come back! Come back soon!’ Brer Rabbit, he sot dar, he did, an’ work his nose an’ wiggle his mouf, an’ wait fer ter see what gwineter happen nex’.
“Whiles Brer Rabbit settin’ dar, Brer Bull-Frog fall ter mumblin’ ag’in an’ it look like he ’bout ter drap off ter sleep, but bimeby he talk louder, ‘Be my frien’—be my frien’! Oh, be my frien’!’ Brer Rabbit wunk one eye an’ smole a smile, kaze he done hear a heap er talk like dat. He wipe his face an’ eyes wid his pocket-hankcher, an’ sot so still dat you’d ’a’ thunk he wa’n’t nothin’ but a chunk er wood. But Brer Bull-Frog, he know’d how ter stay still hisse’f, an’ he ain’t so much ez bubble a bubble. But atter whiles, when Brer Rabbit can’t stay still no mo’, he got up fum whar he wuz settin’ at an’ mosied[220] out by de mill-race whar de grass is fresh an’ de trees is green.
“Brer Bull-Frog holla, ‘Jug-er-rum—jug-er-rum! Wade in here—I’ll gi’ you some!’ Now dey ain’t nothin’ dat ol’ Brer Rabbit like better dan a little bit er dram fer de stomach-ache, an’ his mouf ’gun ter water right den an’ dar. He went a little closer ter de mill-pon’, an’ Brer Bull-Frog keep on a-talkin’ ’bout de jug er rum, an’ what he gwine do ef Brer Rabbit will wade in dar. He look at de water, an’ it look mighty col’; he look ag’in an’ it look mighty deep. It say, ‘Lap-lap!’ an’ it look like it’s a-creepin’ higher. Brer Rabbit drawed back wid a shiver, an’ he wish mighty much dat he’d ’a’ fotch his overcoat.
“In he went—kerchug!”
“Brer Bull-Frog say, ‘Knee deep—knee deep! Wade in—wade in!’ an’ he make de water bubble des like he takin’ a dram. Den an’ dar, sump’n n’er happen, an’ how it come ter happen Brer Rabbit never kin tell; but he peeped in de pon’ fer ter see ef he kin ketch a glimp er de jug, an’ in he went—kerchug! He ain’t never know whedder he fall in, er slip in, er ef he was pushed[221] in, but dar he wuz! He come mighty nigh not gittin out; but he scramble an’ he scuffle twel he git[222] back ter de bank whar he kin clim’ out, an’ he stood dar, he did, an’ kinder shuck hisse’f, kaze he mighty glad fer ter fin’ dat he’s in de worl’ once mo’. He know’d dat a leetle mo’ an’ he’d ’a’ been gone fer good, kaze when he drapped in, er jumped in, er fell in, he wuz over his head an’ years, an’ he hatter do a sight er kickin’ an’ scufflin’ an’ swallerin’ water ’fo’ he kin git whar he kin grab de grass on de bank.
“He wonder how in de worl’ dat plain water kin be so watery”
“He sneeze an’ snoze, an’ wheeze an’ whoze, twel it look like he’d drown right whar he wuz stan’in’ any way you kin fix it. He say ter hisse’f dat he ain’t never gwineter git de tas’e er river water outer his mouf an’ nose, an’ he wonder how in de worl’ dat plain water kin be so watery. Ol’ Brer Bull-Frog, he laugh like a bull in de pastur’,[223] an’ Brer Rabbit gi’ a sidelong look dat oughter tol’ ’im ez much ez a map kin tell one er deze yer school scholars. Brer Rabbit look at ’im, but he ain’t say narry a word. He des shuck hisse’f once mo’, an’ put out fer home whar he kin set in front er de fire an’ git dry.
“Atter dat day, Brer Rabbit riz mighty soon an’ went ter bed late, an’ he watch Brer Bull-Frog so close dat dey wa’n’t nothin’ he kin do but what Brer Rabbit know ’bout it time it ’uz done; an’ one thing he know’d better dan all—he know’d dat when de winter time come Brer Bull-Frog would have ter pack up his duds an’ move over in de bog whar de water don’t git friz up. Dat much he know’d, an’ when dat time come, he laid off fer ter make Brer Bull-Frog’s journey, short ez it wuz, ez full er hap’nin’s ez de day when de ol’ cow went dry. He tuck an’ move his bed an’ board ter de big holler poplar, not fur fum de mill-pon’, an’ dar he stayed an’ keep one eye on Brer Bull-Frog bofe night an’ day. He ain’t lose no flesh whiles he waitin’, kaze he ain’t one er deze yer kin’ what mopes an’ gits sollumcolly;[224] he wuz all de time 'twixt a grin an’ a giggle.
“He know’d mighty well—none better—dat time goes by turns in deze low groun’s, an’ he wait fer de day when Brer Bull-Frog gwineter move his belongin’s fum pon’ ter bog. An’ bimeby dat time come, an’ when it come, Brer Bull-Frog is done fergit off’n his mind all ’bout Brer Rabbit an’ his splashification. He rig hisse’f out in his Sunday best, an’ he look kerscrumptious ter dem what like dat kinder doin’s. He had on a little sojer hat wid green an’ white speckles all over it, an’ a long green coat, an’ satin britches, an’ a white silk wescut, an’ shoes wid silver buckles. Mo’ dan dat, he had a green umbrell, fer ter keep fum havin’ freckles, an’ his long spotted tail wuz done up in de umbrell kivver so dat it won’t drag on de groun’.”
Uncle Remus paused to see what the little boy would say to this last statement, but the child’s training prevented the asking of many questions, and so he only laughed at the idea of a frog with a tail, and the tail done up in the cover of a green[225] umbrella. The laughter of the youngster was hearty enough to satisfy the old negro, and he went on with the story.
“Whiles all dis gwine on, honey, you better b’lieve dat Brer Rabbit wa’n’t so mighty fur fum dar. When Brer Bull-Frog come out an’ start fer ter promenade ter de bog, Brer Rabbit show hisse’f an’ make like he skeered. He broke an’ run, an’ den he stop fer ter see what ’tis—an’ den he run a leetle ways an’ stop ag’in, an’ he keep on dodgin’ an’ runnin’ twel he fool Brer Bull-Frog inter b’lievin’ dat he wuz skeer’d mighty nigh ter death.
“You know how folks does when dey git de idee dat somebody’s ’fear’d un um—ef you don’t you’ll fin’ out long ’fo’ yo’ whiskers gits ter hangin’ to yo’ knees. When folks take up dis idee, dey gits biggity, an’ dey ain’t no stayin’ in de same country wid um.
[226]
“He shuck his umbrell’ like he mad”
[227]
“Well, Brer Bull-Frog, he git de idee dat Brer Rabbit wuz ’fear’d un ’im, an’ he shuck his umbrell like he mad, an’ he beller: ‘Whar my gun?’ Brer Rabbit flung up bofe han’s like he wuz skeer’d er gittin’ a load er shot in his vitals, an’ den he broke an’ run ez hard ez he kin. Brer Bull-Frog holler out, ‘Come yer, you vilyun, an’ le’ me gi’ you de frailin’ what I done promise you!’ but ol’ Brer Rabbit, he keep on a-gwine. Brer Bull-Frog went hoppin’ atter, but he ain’t make much headway, kaze all de time he wuz hoppin’ he wuz tryin’ to strut.
“’Twuz e’en about ez much ez Brer Rabbit kin do fer ter keep fum laughin’, but he led Brer Bull-Frog ter de holler poplar, whar he had his hatchet hid. Ez he went in, he ’low, ‘You can’t git me!’ He went in, he did, an’ out he popped on t’er side. By dat time Brer Bull-Frog wuz mighty certain an’ sho dat Brer Rabbit wuz skeer’d ez he kin be, an’ inter de holler he went, widout so much ez takin’ de trouble ter shet up his umbrell. When he got in de holler, in co’se he ain’t see hide ner ha’r er Brer Rabbit, an’ he beller out, ‘Whar is you? You may hide, but I’ll fin’ you, an’ when I does—when I does!’ He ain’t say all he wanter say, kaze by dat time Brer Rabbit wuz lammin’ on de tree wid his hatchet. He hit it some[228] mighty heavy whacks, an’ Brer Bull-Frog git de idee dat somebody wuz cuttin’ it down.
“Brer Rabbit run roun’ ter whar he wuz an’ chop his tail off”
[229]
“Dis kinder skeer’d ’im, kaze he know dat ef de tree fell while he in de holler, it’d be all-night Isom wid him. But when he make a move fer ter turn roun’ in dar fer ter come out, Brer Rabbit run roun’ ter whar he wuz, an’ chop his tail off right smick-smack-smoove.”
The veteran story-teller paused, and looked at the clouds that were gathering in the sky. “’Twouldn’t ’stonish me none,” he remarked dryly, “ef we wuz ter have some fallin’ wedder.”
“But, Uncle Remus, what happened when Brother Rabbit cut off the Bull-Frog’s tail?” inquired the little boy.
The old man sighed heavily, and looked around, as if he were hunting for some way of escape. “Why, honey, when de Frog tail wuz cut off, it stayed off, but dey tells me dat it kep’ on a wigglin’ plum twel de sun went down. Dis much I does know, dat sence dat day, none er de Frog fambly has been troubled wid tails. Ef you don’t believe me you kin ketch um an’ see.”
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