“Hello, little piggy! Where ye started to?”
“Goin’ to build me a house.”
“What ye goin’ to build it out’n?”
“Rocks and bricks!”
“Oo-oo, no, little piggy! That’ll freeze ye. Build it outa chips and cornstalks.”
So Tom he got to studyin’ about it and he ’lowed it ’uld be a heap easier to build him a house outa chips and cornstalks anyhow, so that’s what he done.
And that night the old red fox came to the door.
“Let me in, little piggy, so I can warm.”
“Oh, no! I’m feared you’ll eat me up.”
“By the beard on my chin,
I’ll blow your house in!”
So the old red fox he r’ared back on his hindquarters and blowed—blowed that house all to pieces and grabbed Tom and eat him up.
And so Tom failed to show up at his mammy’s that Sunday.
Fin’lly the old sow she fixed Jack three days’ rations and a little house-plunder on a drag-sled and he headed for the wilderness. Met up with the old red fox.
“Hello there, little piggy! Where ye started?”
“Started out to seek my fortune. Goin’ to build me a house.”
“What ye goin’ to build it out’n?”
“Build it outa rocks ’n bricks.”
“Oo-oo-oo no, little piggy! Don’t build it outa rocks ’n bricks. Why, you’d plumb freeze! You ought to build your house outa chips and cornstalks so you’ll be warm.”
But Jack went on and done what his mammy told him. Cleared him a tract and built him a good house outa rocks and bricks. Built up a big fire in the fireplace and put on a potful of peas for his supper.
And that night here came the old red fox.
“Oh, little piggy, let me in so I can warm.”
“Oh, no! You’d eat me up!”
“By the beard on my chin,
I’ll blow your house in!”
“Go ahead and blow,” says Jack.
So the old red fox he blowed and blowed and blowed and blowed till he give out, but he couldn’t blow Jack’s house down.
So directly he went around to the back door and commenced whinin’, says, “Oo-oo, little piggy, I’m a-freezin’! Just let me put my nose in and get hit warm.”
“Oh, no,” says Jack, “I’m afraid you might nose me out.”
The old red fox he kept on beggin’ Jack to open the door just enough to let his nose in till Jack he opened the door a little crack and the old red fox stuck his nose in. Jack mashed the door back hard on his nose, and the old red fox says, “Oo-oo, little piggy, how good that fire smells! Just let me put my paws in and get them warm, too.”
“Oh, no! I’m afraid you’d paw me out.”
Kept on beggin’, Jack let his paws in, mashed the door back.
“Oo-oo, little piggy, my shoulders is freezin’! Just let my shoulders in.”
“’Fraid you’d shoulder me out!”
Fin’lly Jack let his shoulders in. Mashed the door back, nearly pinched the old red fox in two.
“Oo-oo! That’s nice and warm, little piggy, but my rump is freezin’.”
“Oh, no, you’d rump me out.”
Begged and begged, so Jack let the old red fox in all but his tail. Slammed the door back and held him by the tail.
“Oo-oo, little piggy! My tail is freezin’ plumb off. Please do just let my tail in, little piggy. I’ll go on out ag’in jest as soon as I get warmed up good.”
So Jack eased up on the door and then the old red fox was in, all of him. He went over and laid up in the fireplace, commenced mumblin’ and hummin’ and kept lookin’ over there at Jack with his jaws just a-drippin’. Jack went on about his business, and directly he heard what he was a-singin’, says:
“Bakebilly boo!
Bakebilly boo!
Pig and peas for supper!
Pig and peas!”
So Jack throwed up his head like he heard somethin’ outside, run to the door and looked out.
“What ye see, little piggy?”
“Oh, it ain’t nothin’,” says Jack, “’cept the King comin’ with all his pack of foxhounds.”
“O law!” says the old red fox, “I better hide quick! Where’ll I hide, little piggy? Where’ll I hide?”
“Jump in that churn there,” says Jack. “I’ll not tell where you’re at.”
So the old red fox he jumped in the churn, and Jack nailed the churn lid down, stuck a kettle of water on the pothook.
The old red fox kept right still and Jack he’t that water scaldin’ hot. Then he took it off the fire and commenced pourin’ it in the hole in the churn-lid.
“Oo-oo-oo!” says the old fox. “A little more cold, little piggy! Just a little more cold!”
But Jack he kept puttin’ it to him scaldin’ hot and the old red fox fin’lly fluttered his tail—wh-r-r-r-r! flop! flop! flop!—and that was the end of him.
So Jack pulled out the nails and poured the old red fox out the back door, and rinsed the churn. Then he eat his pot of peas for supper and went on to bed.
And Jack lived right on in his house and nothin’ never bothered him, and he went back to see his old mammy every Sunday.
“Tom,” said Jeems, “what was that tale we mentioned almost first thing when we got here? Had the devil in it. If Rob hadn’t told ‘Wicked John’ I could think what it was.”
“Bobtail?”
“That’s it.”
“‘That beats Bobtail, and Bobtail beat the Devil,’” I quoted. “Is that a tale?”
“That’s the byword,” said Tom. “The tale’s about how Bobtail done it. I reckon the tale got the byword started.”
And before the boys could say “Tell it! Tell it!” Tom had started—
How Bobtail Beat the Devil
One time the Devil he decided he’d like to try a little farmin’. The climate wasn’t much good for it down there where he lived at, so he come up here and went to lookin’ around. First man he run across was Bobtail. Now if the old Devil had-a knowed how hard Bobtail was to beat in a trade he might-a waited till the next feller come along. Anyhow, there was Bobtail walkin’ in home. So the Devil he stepped up beside him and commenced talkin’ while they ambled on down the road.
“You live around here?”
“Um-humh.”
“You a farmer?”
“Um-humh.”
“I been thinkin’ about goin’ into farmin’ myself.”
“Say ye have?”
“I’m a-lookin’ for me a partner.”
“Ye are?”
“How would you like to do a little share-croppin’ with me?”
“I might,” says Bobtail.—The Devil had his hat pulled ’way down over his forehead but Bobtail had done noticed two little sharp-like bumps a-pushin’ out the felt; seen one of his feet was too big, didn’t have nothin’ in the shoe-toe, looked like it was all in the ankle.—So Bobtail asked him, says, “What share of the crop do you want, mister?”
“Why, I don’t hardly know now,” says the Devil. “Jest what do ye mean?”
“Do you gener’lly take what grows above ground or what grows below?”
The Devil told him, says, “Oh, I always take what grows above ground.”
So Bobtail and him put in a crop. And when it got ripe and they went to gather it, the Devil he cut off the tops and stacked ’em up real careful; and then Bobtail he got his bull-tongue plow and his grabbler and pretty soon there was his potatoes. So he put ’em in the cellar. And the Devil he took a load of his part of the crop to town and asked around about potato tops, and it didn’t take him long to find out he’d been cheated. Got back in, says, “Bobtail, next time I’m to have what grows below the ground.”
So the next season the Devil come back, and Bobtail put him to work: plowin’, harrerin’, plantin’, choppin’—made the old Devil sweat. And when that crop got ripe Bobtail says to him, says, “Well, I’ll clean off the top of the ground for you this
time.” So he cut the corn and shocked it in the orchard; handed the Devil a mattick, says, “Here.”—And they tell me the old Devil grubbed up every corn-root in the field; washed a few of ’em, put ’em in a bushel basket and carried ’em on to town. Come back after a while, says, “Bobtail, let’s us try some other kind of farmin’.”
Bobtail asked him how about pigs, and the Devil said all right; so they got some brood-sows and the sows they found little pigs directly, and it wasn’t long till the shoats was runnin’ all over the place. They kept feedin’ ’em corn—the Devil had to buy his corn—and them pigs growed till pretty soon they got to weighin’ around eighteen-nineteen hundred pounds—like the pigs we raised when I was a boy. And one day the Devil come, says, “Bobtail, ain’t it about time we divided up them pigs?”
“Yes, I reckon they’re about big enough by now,” says Bobtail.
“How’ll we get ’em divided out?” the Devil asked him.
“Why, I don’t know,” says Bobtail. “Can you count?”
“Why, no, I can’t count. Can’t you count?”
“No,” says Bobtail, “I never was much of a hand with figgers.”
“Well, how’n the nation can we divide them pigs?” the Devil asked him.
“Tell ye what,” Bobtail says to him, “if it’s all right with you: see that field there next to this ’un, and that rail fence runnin’ down the middle of it from yonder side the pig-lot—makes two fields over there? Now, you can throw a pig in one field, and then I’ll throw one in the other field; then you throw another’n and I’ll throw me one—and that way we’ll not have much bother gettin’ the pigs divided up.”
Well, the Devil he went to that side of the pig-lot, looked down the fence a ways; come back, says, “Why, yes, I reckon that’ll be all right.”
“You can have the first threw,” Bobtail told him. Says, “Wait just a minute.” And he went and got him a couple of bushels of corn, dumped it in the middle of his field. Come on back, says, “Go ahead; you throw first now.”
So the Devil he picked out the biggest, fattest sow in the lot, pitched her over, turned back around quick and looked and looked to see which was the next biggest ’un. Then Bobtail tackled him one, only a fairly big ’un, dragged her to the fence by her ears, got under her and heaved, and fin’lly over she went. The Devil had done grabbed him another great big hog by the hind leg, so he flipped it over; and Bobtail he wrestled with his next ’un till he got hit over. And they kept on pitchin’ out pigs till there wasn’t but one left—and it was the Devil’s turn to throw. He thought he had Bobtail sure on this trade ’cause that made the extra pig his’n. So he got it cornered and picked it up, dropped it over; and then he looked over in the field—and there wasn’t a pig in sight but that last ’un, and he seen it run down to where there was a couple of rails rotted out, scrouge under the fence and run a-squealin’ to Bobtail’s pile of corn.
“Look a-yonder, Bobtail! All my pigs have done gone and got mixed up with your’n!”
“That don’t differ none,” Bobtail told him. Says, “I’ll know my pigs.”
“How?” the Devil wanted to know.
“Why,” says Bobtail, “ever’ pig I throwed out I reached down just ’fore I let go of it and twisted its tail right hard—left it in a curl.”
And they say the old Devil spent the rest of the day over there amongst all them pigs, tryin’ to find the ones that had straight tails.
But the Devil he studied up a way he thought he could surely outdo Bobtail. Come to him directly, says, “Bobtail, let’s you and me play pitchhammer a couple of rounds. I got a real good hammer for pitchin’. I’ll go down yonder and get it.”
Well, he got the hammer and they went out in the bottom fields to play. The Devil he whirled it around and around, let go of it—and straight up it went. Shot through a couple of clouds, went past two or three more—went on up out of sight. Bobtail kept lookin’ up for it to fall; and the Devil let him look a while. Then he says to him, says, “I’ll jest tell ye, Bobtail: there ain’t no use waitin’ for it. Hit’ll not fall till tomorrer sometime.”
So they went on to the house and fooled around; and jest ’fore dinner the next day they heard it hit—WHAM! “Come on,” says the Devil. So they went back down to the bottom pasture; and sure enough, there was that hammer mired in the ground about halfway up the handle. The Devil he pulled it out and laid it down. Stepped back, says, “All right, Bobtail.”
So Bobtail went to look the hammer over. Walked up the handle, walked around the head, and here he come walkin’ back down the other side the handle. The Devil had one hand in his pocket and was r’ared back jest a-grinnin’. Well, Bobtail he took his stand at the end of the handle; then he looked away up in the sky, put his hands up to his mouth, hollered, “Hey, Saint Peter! Open the gate and move back out the way!—Gabriel! You better move over to one side!—You little angels now, you run back and stand right close to the throne. Some of ye might get hurt.” And Bobtail he bent down like he was goin’ to grab holt on the Devil’s hammer.
The old Devil come over there quick. “Un-unh, Bobtail! I didn’t know you was aimin’ to pitch my hammer that high! Why, if you was to throw my hammer up in that place, I never would get it back. Jest let it alone now and let me have it.”
So the Devil took his hammer and went on back where he come from, and he ain’t been seen in that part of the country since.
“Aaa Lord!” roared Old Rob. “Tom, you’ve done beat Bobtail and the Devil, too! I hadn’t never heard but the first part of that.—‘Hey, Saint Peter! Watch out now!’”—and the old man fairly bounced with mirth. “That puts me in mind of a song.—Here, Rhody, these young’uns have done gone to sleep on me. Take ’em and lay ’em on the bed.”
Rhody and Steve carried the two little girls and stretched them out on the far side of the big bed where they whimpered a time or two, curled up and slept again.
Tom got up and tended the fire. Steve brought another stick and laid it in place. Two big boys who had been standing against the wall, moved and sat down on the floor leaning on each other back-to-back.
“What was that song Bobtail put you in mind of?” asked Jeems.
“Don’t you sing that old thing,” protested Sarah. “We done had enough devilment already.”
“She don’t like it,” said little Rob, ‘“cause it throws off on womankind.”
A chorus of “Sing it! Go on, sing it!” came from the big boys; and Old Robin sang—
THE DEVIL AND THE FARMER’S WIFE
There was an old man at the foot of the hill:
if he ain’t moved a-way he’s living there still.
Sing high diddle I, diddle I fy,
diddle I, diddle I, day!
Now this old man in Ohio did dwell;
he had an old woman he wished her—well.
So the Devil he came to his house one day,
says, “One of your family I’m a-goin’ to take away.”
“O please don’t take my oldest son;
there’s work on the farm that’s got to be done.”
“It’s neither your son nor your daughter I crave
but your old scolding woman I now must have.”
“Take her on, take her on, with the joy of my heart!
I hope, by golly, you’ll nevermore part.”
So the Devil he bundled her up in a sack
and slung her up across his back.
He carried her down to the high gates of hell,
says, “Punch up the fire, we’re goin’ to roast her well.”
In come a little devil draggin’ his chains;
she jerked off her slipper and beat out his brains.
Twelve little devils went a-climbin’ up higher;
she up with her foot, kicked eleven in the fire.
The odd little devil peeped over the wall,
says, “Take her back, Daddy! She’ll murder us all!”
Now that old man was a peekin’ through a crack;
The old man run and hid under the bed;
she up with the butterstick and battered his head.
And now you see what a woman can do:
she can outdo her husband and the Devil too.
Old Kel roared even louder than Big Rob did over Bobtail, especially at the verse, “Take her back, Daddy!” and two of the boys on the floor listening open-mouthed while each verse came out in Rob’s big voice, cut all kinds of antics in their glee at the end of every punch line. Tom spoke out above their hilarity, “You boys might get in a little more dry wood; that green log’s about to smother the fire.”
All the boys trailed out to the woodpile. There was general going in and out for a few minutes; drinks of water from the cedar bucket in the kitchen, wood brought and the fire mended, more wood toted in and piled on one end of the hearthrock. Three sleepy smaller children were bundled up to be taken down the road a piece by a pair of boys who urged that no tales be told in their absence. Tom had been whetting his knife on a pocket-stone in the course of the last three or four tales, and now he was whittling on a small block of wood.
“You whittlin’ somethin’,” asked Steve, “or just a-whittlin’ whittlin’s?”
“Somethin’,” said Tom. “You’ll see.”
“You doin’ much for that guild outfit?” asked Jeems.
“Crosses, puzzle balls, bears; dog or cat now and then.”
“What’s that about a guild?” I asked.
“Craft guild,” said Jeems. “Episcopal Church started it about ten years ago. It helps folks in here sell little pretties they make: wood-carvin’, weavin’, cornshuck dolls, all kinds of oldtime crafts and toys. Show him some of your stuff, Tom.”
Tom brought a carton full of little carved and polished crosses strung on black ribbon, figures of sturdy bears, barking dogs, arch-back cats, and a handful of “puzzle balls”—six little bars of slotted wood rounded on each end and fitted together into a sphere. Steve took one apart and challenged me to reassemble it. I took it, and managed to match the slots after a few fumbles.
Grandfather Tales Page 7