“’Heyo, Brer Rabbit! Who you wizzitin’ down dar?’ sezee.
“’Who? Me? Oh, I’m des a fishin, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. ‘I des say ter myse’f dat I’d sorter sprize you all wid a mess er fishes fer dinner, en so here I is, en dar’s de fishes. I’m a fishin’ fer suckers, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
“’Is dey many un um down dar, Brer Rabbit?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.
“’Lot’s un um, Brer Fox; scoze en scoze un um. De water is natally live wid um. Come down en he’p me haul um in, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
“’How I gwineter git down, Brer Rabbit?’
“’Jump inter de bucket, Brer Fox. Hit’ll fetch you down all safe en soun’.’
“Brer Rabbit talk so happy en talk so sweet dat Brer Fox he jump in de bucket, he did, en, ez he went down, co’se his weight pull Brer Rabbit up. W’en dey pass one nudder on de half-way groun’, Brer Rabbit he sing out:
“‘Good-by, Brer Fox, take keer yo’ cloze,
Fer dis is de way de worril goes;
Some goes up en some goes down,
You’ll git ter de bottom all safe en soun’.’1
“W’en Brer Rabbit got out, he gallop off en tole de fokes w’at de well b’long ter dat Brer Fox wuz down in dar muddyin’ up de drinkin’ water, en den he gallop back ter de well, en holler down ter Brer Fox:
“‘Yer come a man wid a great big gun —
W’en he haul you up, you jump en run.’”
“What then, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy, as the old man paused.
“In des ‘bout half n’our, honey, bofe un um wuz back in de new groun’ wukkin des like dey never heer’d er no well, ceppin’ dat eve’y now’n den Brer Rabbit’d bust out in er laff, en ole Brer Fox, he’d git a spell er de dry grins.”
1 As a Northern friend suggests that this story may be somewhat obscure, it may be as well to state that the well is supposed to be supplied with a rope over a wheel, or pulley, with a bucket at each end.
XVII.
MR. RABBIT NIBBLES
UP THE BUTTER.
“De animils en de beastesses,” said Uncle Remus, shaking his coffee around in the bottom of his tin-cup, in order to gather up all the sugar, “dey kep’ on gittin’ mo’ en mo’ familious wid wunner nudder, twel bimeby, ‘twan’t long ‘fo’ Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox, en Brer Possum got ter sorter bunchin’ der perwishuns ter-gedder in de same shanty. Atter w’ile de roof sorter ‘gun ter leak, en one day Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox, en Brer Possum, ‘semble fer ter see ef dey can’t kinder patch her up. Dey had a big day’s work in front un um, en dey fotch der dinner wid um. Dey lump de vittles up in one pile, en de butter w’at Brer Fox brung, dey goes en puts in de spring-‘ouse fer ter keep cool, en den dey went ter wuk, en ‘twan’t long ‘fo’ Brer Rabbit stummuck ‘gun ter sorter growl en pester ‘im. Dat butter er Brer Fox sot heavy on his mine, en his mouf water eve’y time he ‘member ‘bout it. Present’y he say ter hisse’f dat he bleedzd ter have a nip at dat butter, en den he lay his plans, he did. Fus’ news you know, w’ile dey wuz all wukkin’ ‘long, Brer Rabbit raise his head quick en fling his years forrerd en holler out:
“’Here I is. W’at you want wid me?’ en off he put like sump’n wuz atter ‘im.
“He sallied ‘roun’, ole Brer Rabbit did, en atter he make sho dat nobody ain’t foller’n un ‘im, inter de spring-‘ouse he bounces, en dar he stays twel he git a bait er butter. Den he santer on back en go to wuk.
“’Whar you bin?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.
“’I hear my chilluns callin’ me,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘en I hatter go see w’at dey want. My ole ‘oman done gone en tuck mighty sick,’ sezee.
“Dey wuk on twel bimeby de butter tas’e so good dat ole Brer Rabbit want some mo’. Den he raise up his head, he did, en holler out:
“’Heyo! Hole on! I’m a comin’!’ en off he put.
“Dis time he stay right smart w’ile, en w’en he git back Brer Fox ax him whar he bin.
“’I bin ter see my ole ‘oman, en she’s a sinkin,’ sezee.
“Dreckly Brer Rabbit hear um callin’ ‘im ag’in en off he goes, en dis time, bless yo’ soul, he gits de butter out so clean dat he kin see hisse’f in de bottom er de bucket. He scrape it clean en lick it dry, en den he go back ter wuk lookin’ mo’ samer dan a nigger w’at de patter-rollers bin had holt un.
“’How’s yo’ ole ‘oman dis time?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.
“’I’m oblije ter you, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘but I’m fear’d she’s done gone by now,’ en dat sorter make Brer Fox en Brer Possum feel in moanin’ wid Brer Rabbit.
“Bimeby, w’en dinner-time come, dey all got out der vittles, but Brer Rabbit keep on lookin’ lonesome, en Brer Fox en Brer Possum dey sorter rustle roun’ fer ter see ef dey can’t make Brer Rabbit feel sorter splimmy.”
“What is that, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy.
“Sorter splimmy-splammy, honey — sorter like he in a crowd — sorter like his ole ‘oman ain’t dead ez she mout be. You know how fokes duz w’en dey gits whar people’s a moanin’.”
The little boy didn’t know, fortunately for him, and Uncle Remus went on:
“Brer Fox en Brer Possum rustle roun’, dey did, gittin out de vittles, en bimeby Brer Fox, he say, sezee:
“’Brer Possum, you run down ter de spring en fetch de butter, en I’ll sail ‘roun’ yer en set de table,’ sezee.
“Brer Possum, he lope off atter de butter, en dreckly here he come lopin’ back wid his years a trimblin’ en his tongue a hangin’ out. Brer Fox, he holler out:
“’W’at de matter now, Brer Possum?’ sezee.
“’You all better run yer, fokes,’ sez Brer Possum, sezee. ‘De las’ drap er dat butter done gone!’
“’Whar she gone?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.
“’Look like she dry up,’ sez Brer Possum, sezee.
“Den Brer Rabbit, he look sorter sollum, he did, en he up’n say, sezee:
“’I speck dat butter melt in somebody mouf,’ sezee.
“Den dey went down ter de spring wid Brer Possum, en sho nuff de butter done gone. W’iles dey wuz sputin’ over der wunderment, Brer Rabbit say he see tracks all ‘roun’ dar, en he p’int out dat ef dey’ll all go ter sleep, he kin ketch de chap w’at stole de butter. Den dey all lie down en Brer Fox en Brer Possum dey soon drapt off ter sleep, but Brer Rabbit he stay ‘wake, en w’en de time come he raise up easy en smear Brer Possum mouf wid de butter on his paws, en den he run off en nibble up de bes’ er de dinner w’at dey lef layin’ out, en den he come back en wake up Brer Fox, en show ‘im de butter on Brer Possum mouf. Den dey wake up Brer Possum, en tell ‘im ‘bout it, but co’se Brer Possum ‘ny it ter de las’. Brer Fox, dough, he’s a kinder lawyer, en he argafy dis way — dat Brer Possum wuz de fus one at de butter, en de fus one fer ter miss it, en mo’n dat, dar hang de signs on his mouf. Brer Possum see dat dey got ‘im jammed up in a cornder, en den he up en say dat de way fer ter ketch de man w’at stole de butter is ter b’il’ a big bresh-heap en set her afier, en all han’s try ter jump over, en de one w’at fall in, den he de chap w’at stole de butter. Brer Rabbit en Brer Fox dey bofe ‘gree, dey did, en dey whirl in en b’il’ de bresh-heap, en dey b’il’ her high en dey b’il’ her wide, en den dey totch her off. W’en she got ter blazin’ up good, Brer Rabbit, he tuck de fus turn. He sorter step back, en look ‘roun’ en giggle, en over he went mo’ samer dan a bird flyin’. Den come Brer Fox. He got back little fudder, en spit on his han’s, en lit out en made de jump, en he come so nigh gittin’ in dat de een’ er his tail kotch afier. Ain’t you never see no fox, honey?” inquired Uncle Remus, in a tone that implied both conciliation and information.
The little boy thought probably he had, but he wouldn’t commit himself.
“Well, den,” continued the old man, “nex’ time you see one un um, you look right close en see ef de een’ er his tail ain’t w’ite. Hit’s des like I tell you.
Dey b’ars de skyar er dat bresh-heap down ter dis day. Dey er marked — dat’s w’at dey is — dey er marked.”
“And what about Brother Possum?” asked the little boy.
“Ole Brer Possum, he tuck a runnin’ start, he did, en he come lumberin’ ‘long, en he lit — kerblam! — right in de middle er de fier, en dat wuz de las’ er ole Brer Possum.”
“But, Uncle Remus, Brother Possum didn’t steal the butter after all,” said the little boy, who was not at all satisfied with such summary injustice.
“Dat w’at make I say w’at I duz, honey. In dis worril, lots er fokes is gotter suffer fer udder fokes sins. Look like hit’s mighty onwrong; but hit’s des dat away. Tribbalashun seem like she’s a waitin’ roun’ de cornder fer ter ketch one en all un us, honey.”
XVIII.
MR. RABBIT FINDS HIS
MATCH AT LAST.
“Hit look like ter me dat I let on de udder night dat in dem days w’en de beastesses wuz santer’n ‘roun’ same like fokes, none un um wuz brash nuff fer ter ketch up wid Brer Rabbit,” remarked Uncle Remus, reflectively.
“Yes,” replied the little boy, “that’s what you said.”
“Well, den,” continued the old man with unction, “dar’s whar my ‘membunce gin out, kaze Brer Rabbit did git kotched up wid, en hit cool ‘im off like po’in’ spring water on one er deze yer biggity fices.”
“How was that, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy.
“One day w’en Brer Rabbit wuz gwine lippity-clippitin’ down de road, he meet up wid ole Brer Tarrypin, en atter dey pass de time er day wid wunner nudder, Brer Rabbit, he ‘low dat he wuz much ‘blije ter Brer Tarrypin fer de han’ he tuck in de rumpus dat day down at Miss Meadows’s.”
“When he dropped off of the water-shelf on the Fox’s head,” suggested the little boy.
“Dat’s de same time, honey. Den Brer Rabbit ‘low dat Brer Fox run mighty fas’ dat day, but dat ef he’d er bin atter ‘im stidder Brer Rabbit, he’d er kotch ‘im. Brer Rabbit say he could er kotch ‘im hisse’f but he didn’t keer ‘bout leavin’ de ladies. Dey keep on talkin’, dey did, twel bimeby dey gotter ‘sputin’ ‘bout w’ich wuz de swif’es’. Brer Rabbit, he say he kin outrun Brer Tarrypin, en Brer Tarrypin, he des vow dat he kin outrun Brer Rabbit. Up en down dey had it, twel fus news you know Brer Tarrypin say he got a fifty-dollar bill in de chink er de chimbly at home, en dat bill done tole ‘im dat he could beat Brer Rabbit in a fa’r race. Den Brer Rabbit say he got a fifty-dollar bill w’at say dat he kin leave Brer Tarrypin so fur behime, dat he could sow barley ez he went ‘long en hit ‘ud be ripe nuff fer ter cut by de time Brer Tarrypin pass dat way.
“Enny how dey make de bet en put up de money, en ole Brer Tukky Buzzard, he wuz summonzd fer ter be de jedge, en de stakeholder; en ‘twan’t long ‘fo’ all de ‘rangements wuz made. De race wuz a five-mile heat, en de groun’ wuz medjud off, en at de een’ er ev’ey mile a pos’ wuz stuck up. Brer Rabbit wuz ter run down de big road, en Brer Tarrypin, he say he’d gallup thoo de woods. Fokes tole ‘im he could git long faster in de road, but ole Brer Tarrypin, he know w’at he doin’. Miss Meadows en de gals en mos’ all de nabers got win’ er de fun, en w’en de day wuz sot dey ‘termin’ fer ter be on han’. Brer Rabbit he train hisse’f ev’ey day, en he skip over de groun’ des ez gayly ez a June cricket. Ole Brer Tarrypin, he lay low in de swamp. He had a wife en th’ee chilluns, ole Brer Tarrypin did, en dey wuz all de ve’y spit en image er de ole man. Ennybody w’at know one fum de udder gotter take a spy-glass, en den dey er li’ble fer ter git fooled.
“Dat’s de way marters stan’ twel de day er de race, en on dat day, ole Brer Tarrypin, en his ole ‘oman, en his th’ee chilluns, dey got up ‘fo’ sun-up, en went ter de place. De ole ‘oman, she tuck ‘er stan’ nigh de fus’ milepos’, she did, en de chilluns nigh de udders, up ter de las’, en dar ole Brer Tarrypin, he tuck his stan’. Bimeby, here come de fokes: Jedge Buzzard, he come, en Miss Meadows en de gals, dey come, en den yer come Brer Rabbit wid ribbins tied ‘roun’ his neck en streamin’ fum his years. De fokes all went ter de udder een’ er de track fer ter see how dey come out. W’en de time come Jedge Buzzard strut ‘roun’ en pull out his watch, en holler out:
“’Gents, is you ready?’
“Brer Rabbit, he say ‘yes,’ en ole Miss Tarrypin holler ‘go’ fum de aidge er de woods. Brer Rabbit, he lit out on de race, en ole Miss Tarrypin, she put out for home. Jedge Buzzard, he riz en skimmed ‘long fer ter see dat de race wuz runned fa’r, W’en Brer Rabbit got ter de fus mile-pos’ wunner de Tarrypin chilluns crawl out de woods, he did, en make fer de place. Brer Rabbit, he holler out:
“’Whar is you, Brer Tarrypin?’
“’Yer I come a bulgin’,’ sez de Tarrypin, sezee.
“Brer Rabbit so glad he’s ahead dat he put out harder dan ever, en de Tarrypin, he make fer home. W’en he come ter de nex’ pos’, nudder Tarrypin crawl out er de woods.
“’Whar is you, Brer Tarrypin?’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
“’Yer I come a bilin’,’ sez de Tarrypin, sezee.
“Brer Rabbit, he lit out, he did, en come ter nex’ pos’, en dar wuz de Tarrypin. Den he come ter nex’, en dar wuz de Tarrypin. Den he had one mo’ mile fer ter run, en he feel like he gittin’ bellust. Bimeby, ole Brer Tarrypin look way off down de road en he see Jedge Buzzard sailin’ ‘long en he know hit’s time fer ‘im fer ter be up. So he scramble outen de woods, en roll ‘cross de ditch, en shuffle thoo de crowd er folks en git ter de mile-pos’ en crawl behime it. Bimeby, fus’ news you know, yer come Brer Rabbit. He look ‘roun’ en he don’t see Brer Tarrypin, en den he squall out:
“’Gimme de money, Brer Buzzard! Gimme de money!’
“Den Miss Meadows en de gals, dey holler and laff fit ter kill deyse’f, en ole Brer Tarrypin, he raise up from behime de pos’ en sez, sezee:
“’Ef you’ll gimme time fer ter ketch my breff, gents en ladies, one en all, I speck I’ll finger dat money myse’f,’ sezee, en sho nuff, Brer Tarrypin tie de pu’s ‘roun’ his neck en skaddle1 off home.”
“Co’se, honey. De beastesses ‘gun ter cheat, en den fokes tuck it up, en hit keep on spreadin’. Hit mighty ketchin’, en you mine yo’ eye, honey, dat somebody don’t cheat you ‘fo’ yo’ ha’r git gray ez de ole nigger’s.”
1 It may be interesting to note here that in all probability the word “skedaddle,” about which there was some controversy during the war, came from the Virginia negro’s use of “skaddle,” which is a corruption of “scatter.” The matter, however, is hardly worth referring to.”But, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, dolefully, “that was cheating.”
XIX.
THE FATE OF
MR. JACK SPARROW.
“You’ll tromple on dat bark twel hit won’t be fitten fer ter fling ‘way, let ‘lone make hoss-collars out’n,” said Uncle Remus, as the little boy came running into his cabin out of the rain. All over the floor long strips of “wahoo” bark were spread, and these the old man was weaving into horse-collars.
“I’ll sit down, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy.
“Well, den, you better, honey,” responded the old man, “kaze I ‘spizes fer ter have my wahoo trompled on. Ef ‘twuz shucks, now, hit mout be diffunt, but I’m a gittin’ too ole fer ter be projickin’ longer shuck collars.”
For a few minutes the old man went on with his work, but with a solemn air altogether unusual. Once or twice he sighed deeply, and the sighs ended in a prolonged groan, that seemed to the little boy to be the result of the most unspeakable mental agony. He knew by experience that he had done something which failed to meet the approval of Uncle Remus, and he tried to remember what it was, so as to frame an excuse; but his memory failed him. He could think of nothing he had done calculated to stir Uncle Remus’s grief. He was not exactly seized with remorse, but he was very uneasy. Presently Uncle Remus looked at him in a sad and hopeless way, and asked:
“W’at dat long rigmarole you bin tellin’ Miss Sally
‘bout yo’ little brer dis mawnin?”
“Which, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy, blushing guiltily.
“Dat des w’at I’m a axin’ un you now. I hear Miss Sally say she’s a gwineter stripe his jacket, en den I knowed you bin tellin’ on ‘im.”
“Well, Uncle Remus, he was pulling up your onions, and then he went and flung a rock at me,” said the child, plaintively.
“Lemme tell you dis,” said the old man, laying down the section of horse-collar he had been plaiting, and looking hard at the little boy — “lemme tell you dis — der ain’t no way fer ter make tattlers en tale-b’arers turn out good. No, dey ain’t. I bin mixin’ up wid fokes now gwine on eighty year, en I ain’t seed no tattler come ter no good een’. Dat I ain’t. En ef ole man M’thoozlum wuz livin’ clean twel yit, he’d up’n tell you de same. Sho ez your settin’ dar. You ‘member w’at ‘come er de bird w’at went tattlin’ ‘roun’ ‘bout Brer Rabbit?”
The little boy didn’t remember, but he was very anxious to know, and he also wanted to know what kind of a bird it was that so disgraced itself.
“Hit wuz winner deze yer uppity little Jack Sparrers, I speck,” said the old man; “dey wuz allers bodder’n’ longer udder fokes’s bizness, en dey keeps at it down ter dis day — peckin’ yer, and pickin’ dar, en scratchin’ out yander. One day, atter he bin fool by ole Brer Tarrypin, Brer Rabbit wuz settin’ down in de woods studdyin’ how he wuz gwineter git even. He feel mighty lonesome, en he feel mighty mad, Brer Rabbit did. Tain’t put down in de tale, but I speck he cusst en r’ar’d ‘roun’ considerbul. Leas’ways, he wuz settin’ out dar by hisse’f, en dar he sot, en study en study, twel bimeby he jump up en holler out:
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