couldn’t watch the little boy. The youngster had been listening to the
story too intently to ask questions, and now he sat silent waiting for
Uncle Remus to finish. He waited and waited until he grew impatient, and
then he raised his head. He still waited a few moments longer, but Uncle
Remus to all appearances was nodding. “Uncle Remus,” he cried, “what
became of Wiley Wolf?”
[Illustration: “‘_Den you come on home; yo’ mammy want you_’”]
The old negro pretended to wake with a start. “Ain’t I hear some un
talkin’?” He looked all around, and then his eye fell on the little boy.
“Dar you is!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “I done been ter sleep an’
drempt dat I wuz eatin’ a slishe er tater custard ez big ez de waggin
body.” The little boy repeated his question, whereupon Uncle Remus held
up his hands with a gesture of astonishment. “Ain’t I tol’ you dat? Den I
mus’ be gittin’ ol’ an’ wobbly. De fus’ thing when I git ter de house I’m
gwineter be weighed fer ter see how ol’ I is. Now, whar wuz I at?”
“Wiley Wolf was in the bag,” the little boy answered.
“Ah-h-h! Right whar Riley Rab lef’ ’im. He wuz in de bag an’ dar he
stayed twel ol’ Brer Wolf come fum whar he been workin’ in de fiel’--de
creeturs wuz mos’ly farmers in dem days. He come back, he did, an’ he see
de bag, an’ he know by de bulk un it dat dey wuz sump’n in it, an’ he ’uz
so greedy dat his mouf fair dribbled. Now, den, when Wiley Wolf got in
de bag, he wuz mighty tired. He’d been a-scufflin’ an a-rastlin’ twel he
wuz plum’ wo’ out. He hear Riley Rab say he wuz comin’ back, an’ while he
wuz waitin’, he drapt off ter sleep, an’ dar he wuz when his daddy come
home--soun’ asleep.
“Ol’ Brer Wolf ain’t got but one idee, an’ dat wuz dat Riley Rab wuz in
de bag, so he went ter de winder, an’ ax ef de pot wuz b’ilin’, an’ his
ol’ ’oman say ’twuz. Wid dat, he pick up de bag, an’ fo’ you could bat
yo’ eye, he had it soused in de pot.”
“In the boiling water!” exclaimed the child.
“Dat’s de way de tale runs,” replied Uncle Remus. “Ez dey gun it ter me,
so I gin it to you.”
III
BROTHER RABBIT’S LAUGHING-PLACE
This new little boy was intensely practical. He had imagination, but it
was unaccompanied by any of the ancient illusions that make the memory
of childhood so delightful. Young as he was he had a contempt for those
who believed in Santa Claus. He believed only in things that his mother
considered valid and vital, and his training had been of such a character
as to leave out all the beautiful romances of childhood.
Thus when Uncle Remus mentioned something about Brother Rabbit’s
laughing-place, he pictured it forth in his mind as a sure-enough place
that the four-footed creatures had found necessary for their comfort and
convenience. This way of looking at things was, in some measure, a great
help; it cut off long explanations, and stopped many an embarrassing
question.
On one occasion when the two were together, the little boy referred to
Brother Rabbit’s laughing-place and talked about it in much the same way
that he would have talked about Atlanta. If Uncle Remus was unprepared
for such literalness he displayed no astonishment, and for all the child
knew, he had talked the matter over with hundreds of other little boys.
“Uncle Remus,” said the lad, “when was the last time you went to Brother
Rabbit’s laughing-place?”
“To tell you de trufe, honey, I dunno ez I ever been dar,” the old man
responded.
“Now, I think that is very queer,” remarked the little boy.
Uncle Remus reflected a moment before committing himself. “I dunno ez
I yever went right spang ter de place an’ put my han’ on it. I speck
I could ’a’ gone dar wid mighty little trouble, but I wuz so use ter
hearin’ ’bout it dat de idee er gwine dar ain’t never got in my head.
It’s sorter like ol’ Mr. Grissom’s house. Dey say he lives in a quare
little shanty not fur fum de mill. I know right whar de shanty is, yit I
ain’t never been dar, an’ I ain’t never seed it.
“It’s de same way wid Brer Rabbit’s laughin’-place. Dem what tol’ me
’bout it had likely been dar, but I ain’t never had no ’casion fer ter
go dar myse’f. Yit ef I could walk fifteen er sixty mile a day, like I
useter, I boun’ you I could go right now an’ put my han’ on de place. Dey
wuz one time--but dat’s a tale, an’, goodness knows, you done hear nuff
tales er one kin’ an’ anudder fer ter make a hoss sick--dey ain’t no two
ways ’bout dat.”
Uncle Remus paused and sighed, and then closed his eyes with a groan,
as though he were sadly exercised in spirit; but his eyes were not
shut so tight that he could not observe the face of the child. It was
a prematurely grave little face that the old man saw and whether this
was the result of the youngster’s environment, or his training, or his
temperament, it would have been difficult to say. But there it was, the
gravity that was only infrequently disturbed by laughter. Uncle Remus
perhaps had seen more laughter in that little face than any one else.
Occasionally the things that the child laughed at were those that would
have convulsed other children, but more frequently, as it seemed, his
smiles were the result of his own reflections and mental comparisons.
“I tell you what, honey,” said Uncle Remus, opening wide his eyes, “dat’s
de ve’y thing you oughter have.”
“What is it?” the child inquired, though apparently he had no interest in
the matter.
“What you want is a laughin’-place, whar you kin go an’ tickle
yo’se’f an’ laugh whedder you wanter laugh er no. I boun’ ef you had
a laughin’-place, you’d gain flesh, an’ when yo’ pa comes down fum
’Lantamatantarum, he wouldn’t skacely know you.”
“But I don’t want father not to know me,” the child answered. “If he
didn’t know me, I should feel as if I were some one else.”
“Oh, he’d know you bimeby,” said Uncle Remus, “an’ he’d be all de
gladder fer ter see you lookin’ like somebody.”
“Do I look like nobody?” asked the little boy.
“When you fust come down here,” Uncle Remus answered, “you look like
nothin’ ’tall, but sence you been ramblin’ roun’ wid me, you done ’gun
ter look like somebody--mos’ like um.”
“I reckon that’s because I have a laughing-place,” said the child. “You
didn’t know I had one, did you? I have one, but you are the first person
in the world that I have told about it.”
“Well, suh!” Uncle Remus exclaimed with well-feigned astonishment;
“an’ you been settin’ here lis’nin’ at me, an’ all de time you got
a laughin’-place er yo’ own! I never would ’a’ b’lieved it uv you.
Wharbouts is dish yer place?”
“It is right here where you are,” said the little boy with a winning
smile.
“Honey, you don’t tell me!” exclaimed the old man, looking all around.
“Ef you kin see it, you see mo’ dan I does--dey ain’t no two ways ’bout
dat.”
“Why, you are my laughing-place,” cried the little lad with an
extraordinary burst of enthusiasm.
“Well, I thank my stars!” said Uncle Remus with emotion. “You sho’ does
need ter laugh lots mo’ dan what you does. But what make you laugh at
me, honey? Is my britches too big, er is I too big fer my britches? You
neen’ter laugh at dis coat, kaze it’s one dat yo’ grandaddy useter have.
It’s mighty nigh new, kaze I ain’t wo’d it mo’ dan ’lev’m year. It may
look shiny in places, but when you see a coat look shiny, it’s a sign
dat it’s des ez good ez new. You can’t laugh at my shoes, kaze I made
um myse’f, an’ ef dey lack shape dat’s kaze I made um fer ter fit my
rheumatism an’ my foots bofe.”
“Why, I never laughed at you!” exclaimed the child, blushing at the very
idea. “I laugh at what you say, and at the stories you tell.”
“La, honey! You sho’ dunno nothin’; you oughter hearn me tell tales
when I could tell um. I boun’ you’d ’a’ busted de buttons off’n yo’
whatchermacollums. Yo’ pa useter set right whar you er settin’ an’ laugh
twel he can’t laugh no mo’. But dem wuz laughin’ times, an’ it look like
dey ain’t never comin’ back. Dat ’uz ’fo’ eve’ybody wuz rushin’ roun’
trying fer ter git money what don’t b’long ter um by good rights.”
“I was thinking to myself,” remarked the child, “that if Brother Rabbit
had a laughing-place I had a better one.”
“Honey, hush!” exclaimed Uncle Remus with a laugh. “You’ll have me gwine
roun’ here wid my head in de a’r, an’ feelin’ so biggity dat I won’t look
at my own se’f in de lookin’-glass. I ain’t too ol’ fer dat kinder talk
ter sp’ile me.”
“Didn’t you say there was a tale about Brother Rabbit’s laughing-place?”
inquired the little boy, when Uncle Remus ceased to admire himself.
“I dunner whedder you kin call it a tale,” replied the old man. “It’s
mighty funny ’bout tales,” he went on. “Tell um ez you may an’ whence you
may, some’ll say tain’t no tale, an’ den ag’in some’ll say dat it’s a
fine tale. Dey ain’t no tellin’. Dat de reason I don’t like ter tell no
tale ter grown folks, speshually ef dey er white folks. Dey’ll take it
an’ put it by de side er some yuther tale what dey got in der min’ an’
dey’ll take on dat slonchidickler grin what allers say, ‘Go way, nigger
man! You dunner what a tale is!’ An’ I don’t--I’ll say dat much fer ter
keep some un else fum sayin’ it.
“Now, ’bout dat laughin’-place--it seem like dat one time de creeturs got
ter ’sputin’ ’mongs’ deyselves ez ter which un kin laugh de loudest. One
word fotch on an’er twel it look like dey wuz gwineter be a free fight, a
rumpus an’ a riot. Dey show’d der claws an’ tushes, an’ shuck der horns,
an’ rattle der hoof. Dey had der bristles up, an’ it look like der eyes
wuz runnin’ blood, dey got so red.
“Des ’bout de time when it look like you can’t keep um ’part, little
Miss Squinch Owl flew’d up a tree an’ ’low, ‘You all dunner what laughin’
is--ha-ha-ha-ha! You can’t laugh when you try ter laugh--ha-ha-ha-haha!’
De creeturs wuz ’stonisht. Here wuz a little fowl not much bigger dan
a jay-bird laughin’ herse’f blin’ when dey wa’n’t a thing in de roun’
worl’ fer ter laugh at. Dey stop der quoilin’ atter dat an’ look at one
an’er. Brer Bull say, ‘Is anybody ever hear de beat er dat? Who mought
de lady be?’ Dey all say dey dunno, an’ dey got a mighty good reason fer
der sesso, kaze Miss Squinch Owl, she flies at night wid de bats an’ de
Betsey Bugs.
“Well, dey quit der quoilin’, de creeturs did, but dey still had der
’spute; de comin’ er Miss Squinch Owl ain’t settle dat. So dey ’gree
dat dey’d meet some’rs when de wedder got better, an’ try der han’ at
laughin’ fer ter see which un kin outdo de yuther.” Observing that the
little boy was laughing very heartily, Uncle Remus paused long enough to
inquire what had hit him on his funny-bone.
“I was laughing because you said the animals were going to meet an’ try
their hand at laughing,” replied the lad when he could get breath enough
to talk.
Uncle Remus regarded the child with a benevolent smile of admiration.
“Youer long ways ahead er me--you sho’ is. Dey ain’t na’er n’er chap in
de worl’ what’d ’a’ cotch on so quick. You put me in min’ er de peerch,
what grab de bait ’fo’ it hit de water. Well, dat’s what de creeturs
done. Dey say dey wuz gwineter make trial fer ter see which un is de
out-laughin’est er de whole caboodle, an’ dey name de day, an’ all
prommus fer ter be dar, ceppin’ Brer Rabbit, an’ he ’low dat he kin laugh
well nuff fer ter suit hisse’f an’ his fambly, ’sides dat, he don’t keer
’bout laughin’ less’n dey’s sump’n fer ter laugh at. De yuther creeturs
dey beg ’im fer ter come, but he shake his head an’ wiggle his mustache,
an’ say dat when he wanter laugh, he got a laughin’-place fer ter go ter,
whar he won’t be pestered by de balance er creation. He say he kin go
dar an’ laugh his fill, an’ den go on ’bout his business, ef he got any
business, an’ ef he ain’t got none, he kin go ter play.
[Illustration: “‘_Gracious me!’ an’ den he howl_”]
“De yuther creeturs ain’t know what ter make er all dis, an’ dey wonder
an’ wonder how Brer Rabbit kin have a laughin’-place an’ dey ain’t got
none. When dey ax ’im ’bout it, he ’spon’, he did, dat he speck ’twuz des
de diffunce ’twix one creetur an’ an’er. He ax um fer ter look at folks,
how diffunt dey wuz, let ’lone de creeturs. One man ’d be rich an’ an’er
man po’, an’ he ax how come dat.
“Well, suh, dey des natchally can’t tell ’im what make de diffunce ’twix
folks no mo’ dan dey kin tell ’im de diffunce ’twix’ de creeturs. Dey
wuz stumped; dey done fergit all ’bout de trial what wuz ter come off,
but Brer Rabbit fotch um back ter it. He say dey ain’t no needs fer ter
see which kin outdo all de balance un um in de laughin’ business, kaze
anybody what got any sense know dat de donkey is a natchal laugher, same
as Brer Coon is a natchal pacer.
“Brer B’ar look at Brer Wolf, an’ Brer Wolf look at Brer Fox, an’ den
dey all look at one an’er. Brer Bull, he say, ‘Well, well, well!’ an’ den
he groan; Brer B’ar say, ‘Who’d ’a’ thunk it?’ an’ den he growl; an’ Brer
Wolf say ‘Gracious me!’ an’ den he howl. Atter dat, dey ain’t say much,
kaze dey ain’t much fer ter say. Dey des stan’ roun’ an’ look kinder
sheepish. Dey ain’t ’spute wid Brer Rabbit, dough dey’d ’a’ like ter ’a’
done it, but dey sot about an’ make marks in de san’ des like you see
folks do when deyer tryin’ fer ter git der thinkin’ machine ter work.
[Illustration: “_Brer Rabbit he put his han’ ter his head_”]
“Well, suh, dar dey sot an’ dar dey stood. Dey ax Brer Rabbit how
he know how ter fin’ his laughin’-place, an’ how he know it wuz a
laughin’-place atter he got dar. He tap hisse’f on de head, he did, an’
’low dat dey wuz a heap mo’ und’ his hat dan what you could git out wid a
fine-toof comb. Den dey ax ef dey kin see his laughin’-place, an’ he say
he’d take de idee ter bed wid ’im, an’ study ’pon it, but he kin say dis
much right den, dat if he did let um see it, dey’d hatter go dar one at
a time, an’ dey’d hatter do des like he say; ef dey don’t dey’ll git de
notion dat it’s a cryin’-place.
“Dey ’gree ter dis, de creeturs did, an’ den Brer Rabbit say dat while
deyer all der tergedder, dey better choosen ’mongs’ deyse’f which un
uv um wuz gwine fus’, an’ he’d choosen de res’ when de time come. Dey
jowered an’ jowered, an’ bimeby, dey hatter leave it all ter Brer Rabbit.
Brer Rabbit, he put his han’ ter his head, an’ shot his eyeballs an’ do
like he studyin’. He say ‘De mo’ I think ’bout who shill be de fus’ one,
de mo’ I git de idee dat it oughter be Brer Fox. He been here long ez
anybody, an’ he’s purty well thunk uv by de neighbors--I ain’t never hear
nobody breave a breff ag’in ’im.’
“Dey all say dat dey had Brer Fox in min’ all de time, but somehow dey
can’t come right out wid his name, an’ dey vow dat ef dey had ’greed on
somebody, dat somebody would sho’ ’a’ been Brer Fox. Den, atter dat,
’twuz all plain sailin’. Brer Rabbit say he’d meet Brer Fox at sech an’
sech a place, at sech an’ sech a time, an’ atter dat dey wa’n’t no mo’
ter be said. De creeturs all went ter de place whar dey live at, an’ done
des like dey allers done.
[Illustration: “_De creeturs all went ter de place whar dey live at_”]
“Brer Rabbit make a soon start fer ter go ter de p’int whar he prommus
ter met Brer Fox, but soon ez he wuz, Brer Fox wuz dar befo’ ’im. It seem
like he wuz so much in de habits er bein’ outdone by Brer Rabbit dat he
can’t do widout it. Brer Rabbit bow, he did, an’ pass de time er day wid
Brer Fox, an’ ax ’im how his fambly wuz. Brer Fox say dey wuz peart ez
kin be, an’ den he ’low dat he ready an’ a-waitin’ fer ter go an’ see dat
great laughin’-place what Brer Rabbit been talkin’ ’bout.
“Brer Rabbit say dat suit him ter a gnat’s heel, an’ off dey put. Bimeby
dey come ter one er deze here cle’r places dat you sometimes see in
de middle uv a pine thicket. You may ax yo’se’f how come dey don’t no
trees grow dar when dey’s trees all round, but you ain’t gwineter git no
answer, an’ needer is dey anybody what kin tell you. Dey got dar, dey
did, an’ den Brer Rabbit make a halt. Brer Fox ’low, ‘Is dis de place? I
don’t feel no mo’ like laughin’ now dan I did ’fo’ I come.’
[Illustration: “_But soon ez he wuz, Brer Fox wuz dar befo’ ’im_”]
“Brer Rabbit, he say, ‘Des keep yo’ jacket on, Brer Fox; ef you git in
too big a hurry it might come off. We done come mighty nigh ter de place,
an’ ef you wan ter do some ol’ time laughin’, you’ll hatter do des like
I tell you; ef you don’t wanter laugh, I’ll des show you de place, an’
we’ll go on back whar we come fum, kaze dis is one er de days dat I ain’t
got much time ter was’e laughin’ er cryin’.’ Brer Fox ’low dat he ain’t
so mighty greedy ter laugh, an’ wid dat, Brer Rabbit whirl roun’, he did,
an’ make out he gwine on back whar he live at. Brer Fox holler at ’im; he
say, ‘Come on back, Brer Rabbit; I’m des a-projickin’ wid you.’
“‘Ef you wanter projick, Brer Fox, you’ll hatter go home an’ projick wid
dem what wanter be projicked wid. I ain’t here kaze I wanter be here.
You ax me fer ter show you my laughin’-place, an’ I ’greed. I speck we
better be gwine on back.’ Brer Fox say he come fer ter see Brer Rabbit’s
laughin’-place, an’ he ain’t gwineter be satchify twel he see it. Brer
Rabbit ’low dat ef dat de case, den he mus’ ac’ de gentermun all de
way thoo, an’ quit his behavishness. Brer Fox say he’ll do de best he
kin, an’ den Brer Rabbit show ’im a place whar de bamboo briars, an’ de
blackberry bushes, an’ de honeysuckles done start ter come in de pine
thicket, an’ can’t come no furder. ’Twa’n’t no thick place; ’twuz des
whar de swamp at de foot er de hill peter’d out in tryin’ ter come ter
dry lan’. De bushes an’ vines wuz thin an’ scanty, an’ ef dey could ’a’
talked dey’d ’a’ hollered loud fer water.
“Brer Rabbit show Brer Fox de place, an’ den tell ’im dat de game is fer
ter run full tilt thoo de vines an’ bushes, an’ den run back, an’ thoo um
ag’in an’ back, an’ he say he’d bet a plug er terbacker ’g’in a ginger
cake dat by de time Brer Fox done dis he’d be dat tickled dat he can’t
stan’ up fer laughin’. Brer Fox shuck his head; he ain’t nigh b’lieve it,
but fer all dat, he make up his min’ fer ter do what Brer Rabbit say,
spite er de fack dat his ol’ ’oman done tell im ’fo’ he lef’ home dat he
better keep his eye open, kaze Brer Rabbit gwineter run a rig on ’im.
[Illustration: “_His ol’ ’oman done tell him dat he better keep his eye
open_”]
“He tuck a runnin’ start, he did, an’ he went thoo de bushes an’ de
vines like he wuz runnin’ a race. He run an’ he come back a-runnin’, an’
he run back, an’ dat time he struck sump’n wid his head. He try ter dodge
it, but he seed it too late, an’ he wuz gwine too fas’. He struck it,
he did, an’ time he do dat, he fetched a howl dat you might ’a’ hearn a
mile, an’ atter dat, he holler’d yap, yap, yap, an’ ouch, ouch, ouch, an’
yow, yow, yow, an’ whiles dis wuz gwine on Brer Rabbit wuz thumpin’ de
ground wid his behime foot, an’ laughin’ fit ter kill. Brer Fox run roun’
an’ roun’, an’ kep’ on snappin’ at hisse’f an’ doin’ like he wuz tryin’
fer ter t’ar his hide off. He run, an’ he roll, an’ wallow, an’ holler,
an’ fall, an’ squall twell it look like he wuz havin’ forty-lev’m duck
fits.
[Illustration: “_An’ dat time he struck sump’n wid his head_”]
“He got still atter while, but de mo’ stiller he got, de wuss he looked.
His head wuz all swell up, an’ he look like he been run over in de road
by a fo’-mule waggin. Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘I’m glad you had sech a good
time, Brer Fox; I’ll hatter fetch you out ag’in. You sho’ done like you
wuz havin’ fun.’ Brer Fox ain’t say a word; he wuz too mad fer ter talk.
He des sot aroun’ an’ lick hisse’f an’ try ter git his ha’r straight.
Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘You ripped aroun’ in dar twel I wuz skeer’d you wuz
gwine ter hurt yo’se’f, an’ I b’lieve in my soul you done gone an’ bump
yo’ head ag’in a tree, kaze it’s all swell up. You better go home, Brer
Fox, an’ let yo’ ol’ ’oman poultice you up.’
“Brer Fox show his tushes, an’ say, ‘You said dis wuz a laughin’-place.’
Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘I said ’twuz my laughin’-place, an’ I’ll say it ag’in.
What you reckon I been doin’ all dis time? Ain’t you hear me laughin’?
An’ what you been doin’? I hear you makin’ a mighty fuss in dar, an’ I
say ter myse’f dat Brer Fox is havin’ a mighty big time.’
“‘I let you know dat I ain’t been laughin’,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.”
Uncle Remus paused, and waited to be questioned. “What was the matter
with the Fox, if he wasn’t laughing?” the child asked after a thoughtful
moment.
Uncle Remus flung his head back, and cried out in a sing-song tone,
“_He run ter de Eas’ an he run ter de Wes’_
_An’ jammed his head in a hornet’s nes’!_”
IV
BROTHER RABBIT AND THE CHICKENS
Uncle Remus was sorely puzzled as to the best method of pleasing this
youngster. He wasn’t sure the little boy enjoyed such tales as the one
in which Riley Rabbit turned the tables on Wiley Wolf. So he ventured a
question. “Honey, what kinder tales does you like?”
“Oh, I like them all,” replied the little boy, “only some are nicer than
the others;” and then, without waiting for an invitation, he told Uncle
Remus the story of Cinderella. He told it very well for a small chap, and
Uncle Remus pretended to enjoy it, although he had heard it hundreds of
times.
“It’s a mighty purty tale,” he said. “It’s so purty dat you dunner
whedder ter b’lieve it er not. Yit I speck it’s so, kaze one time in
forty-lev’m hundred matters will turn out right een’ upperds. Now, de
creeturs never had no godm’ers; dey des hatter scuffle an’ scramble an’
git ’long de bes’ way dey kin.”
“But they were very cruel,” remarked the little boy, “and they told
stories.”
“When it come ter dat,” Uncle Remus replied, “de creeturs ain’t much
ahead er folks, an’ yit folks is got preachers fer ter tell um when
deyer gwine wrong. Mo’ dan dat, dey got de Bible; an’ yit when you git
a little older, you’ll wake up some fine day an’ say ter yo’se’f dat de
creeturs is got de ’vantage er folks, spite er de fack dat dey ain’t know
de diffunce ’twix’ right an’ wrong. Dey got ter live ’cordin’ ter der
natur’, kaze dey ain’t know no better. I had in min’ a tale ’bout Brer
Rabbit an’ de chickens, but I speck it’d hurt you’ feelin’s.”
The little boy said nothing for some time; he was evidently expecting
Uncle Remus to go ahead with his story. But he was mistaken about this,
for when the old man broke the silence, it was to speak of something
trivial or commonplace. The child, in spite of the training to which he
had been subjected, retained his boy’s nature. “Uncle Remus,” he said,
“what about Brother Rabbit and the chickens?”
“Which Brer Rabbit wuz dat, honey?” he asked with apparent surprise.
“You said something about Brother Rabbit and the chickens.”
“Who? Me? I mought er said sump’n ’bout um day ’fo’ yistiddy, but it done
gone off ’n my min’. I done got so ol’ dat my min’ flutters like a bird
in de bush.”
“Why, you said that there was a tale about Brother Rabbit and the
chickens, but if you told it, my feelings would be hurt. You must think I
am a girl.”
Uncle Remus laughed. “Not ez bad ez dat, honey; but I’m fear’d youer
monstous tetchous. I’ll tell you de tale, an’ den you kin tell it ter yo’
pa, kaze it’s one he ain’t never hear tell ’bout.
“Well, den, one time, ’way back yander dey wuz a man what live neighbor
ter de creeturs. Dey wa’n’t nothin’ quare ’bout dis Mr. Man; he wuz des a
plain, eve’yday kinder man, an’ he try ter git ’long de best he kin. He
ain’t had no easy time, needer, kaze ’twant den like ’tis now, when you
kin take yo’ cotton er yo’ corn ter town an’ have de money planked down
fer you.
“In dem times dey wa’n’t no town, an’ not much money. What folks dey wuz
hatter git ’long by swappin’ an’ traffickin’. How dey done it, I’ll never
tell you, but do it dey did, an’ it seem like dey wuz in about ez happy
ez folks is deze days.
“Well, dish yer Mr. Man what I’m a-tellin’ you ’bout, he had a truck
patch, an’ a roas’in’-year patch, an’ a goober patch. He grow’d wheat an’
barley, an’ likewise rye, an’ kiss de gals an’ make um cry. An’ on top er
dat, he had a whole yard full er chickens, an’ dar’s whar de trouble come
in. In dem times, all er de creeturs wuz meat-eaters, an’ twuz in about
ez much ez dey kin do, an’ sometimes a little mo’, fer ter git ’long
so dey won’t go ter bed hongry. Dey got in de habit er bein’ hongry,
an’ dey ain’t never git over it. Look at Brer Wolf--gaunt; look at Brer
Fox--gaunt! Dey ain’t never been able fer ter make deyse’f fat.
“So den, ez you see um now, dat de way dey wuz in dem days, an’ a little
mo’ so. Mr. Man, he had chickens, des like I tell you. Hens ez plump ez
a pa’tridge; pullets so slick dey’d make yo’ mouf water, an’ fryin’-size
chickens dat look like dey want ter git right in de pan. Now, when dat’s
de case, what you reckon gwineter happen? Brer Wolf want chicken, Brer
Fox want chicken, an’ Brer Rabbit want chicken. An’ dey ain’t got nothin’
what dey kin swap fer um. In deze days dey’d be called po’, but I take
notice dat po’ folks gits des ez hongry ez de rich uns--an’ hongrier,
when it comes ter dat; yes, Lord! lots hongrier.