roun’ tryin’ fer ter fin’ out what de trouble is in de Swamp, ol’
Craney-Crow wuz wadin’ ’bout in de water tryin’ ter fin’ some frog steak
fer his dinner, er maybe a fish fer ter whet his appetite on. But dey
wa’n’t nary frog ner nary fish, kaze de Swamp done gone ter sleep. De
mo’ ol’ Craney-Crow waded de mo’ shallerer de water got, twel bimeby day
wa’n’t nuff fer ter mo’ dan wet his foots. He say, ‘Hey! how come dis?’
But he ain’t got no answer, kaze de Swamp, wid all its bad dreams, wuz
soun’ asleep. Dey wuz pools er water roun’ an’ about, an’ ol’ Craney-Crow
went fum one ter de yuther, an’ fum yuther ter t’other, but ’tain’t do
him no good. He went an’ stood by um, he did, but whiles he stannin’ dar,
dey wa’n’t a riffle on top un um. Bimeby he got tired er walkin’ about,
an’ he stood on one leg fer ter res’ hisse’f--dough ef anybody’ll tell me
how you gwineter res’ yo’se’f wid stannin’ on one leg, I’ll set up an’
tell um tales fum now tell Chris’mus, kaze ef I git tired I kin stan’ on
one leg an’ do my restin’ dat a-way.
“Well, den, dar wuz ol’ Craney-Crow, an’ dar wuz de Swamp. Ol’
Craney-Crow wuz wide-awake, but de Swamp wuz fast asleep an’ dreamin’
bad dreams like a wil’ hoss an’ waggin gwine down hill. But de Swamp
wa’n’t no stiller dan ol’ Craney-Crow, stannin’ on one leg wid one eye
lookin’ in de tops er de trees, an’ de yuther one lookin’ down in de
grass. But in de Swamp er out’n de Swamp, time goes on an’ night draps
down, an’ dat’s de way it done dis time. An’ when night drapped down, de
Swamp kinder stretch itse’f an’ ’gun ter wake up. Ol’ Brer Mud Turkle
opened his eyes an’ sneeze so hard dat he roll off de bank inter de
water--kersplash--an’ he so close ter ol’ Craney-Crow dat he fetched a
hop sideways, an’ come mighty nigh steppin’ on Mr. Billy Black Snake. Dis
skeer’d ’im so dat he fetched an’er hop, an’ mighty nigh lit on de frog
what he been huntin’ fer. De frog he say ‘hey!’ an’ dove in de mud-puddle.
“Atter dat, when ol’ Craney-Crow move ’bout, he lif’ his foots high,
an’ he done like de ladies does when dey walk in a wet place. De whole
caboodle wuz bran’ new ter ol’ Craney-Crow, an’ he look wid all his
eyes, an’ lissen wid all his years. Dey wuz sump’n n’er gwine on, but he
can’t make out what ’twuz. He ain’t never is been in no swamp befo’, mo’
speshually a Swamp what got life in it. He been useter ma’shy places,
whar dey ain’t nothin’ but water an’ high grass, but dar whar he fin’
hisse’f atter de harrycane, dey wa’n’t no big sight er water, an’ what
grass dey wuz, wa’n’t longer ’n yo’ finger. Stidder grass an’ water, dey
wuz vines, an’ reeds, an’ trees wid moss on um dat made um look like
Gran’suh Graybeard, an’ de vines an’ creepers look like dey wuz reachin’
out fer ’im.
“He walked about, he did, like de groun’ wuz hot, an’ when he walk he
look like he wuz on stilts, his legs wuz so long. He hunt roun’ fer a
place fer ter sleep, an’ whiles he wuz doin’ dat he tuck notice dat
dey wuz sump’n n’er gwine on dat he ain’t never is see de like un. De
jacky-ma-lantuns, dey lit up an’ went sailin’ roun’ des like dey wuz
huntin’ fer ’im an’ de frogs, dey holler at ’im wid, ‘What you doin’
here? What you doin’ here?’ Mr. Coon rack by an’ laugh at ’im; Mr. Billy
Gray Fox peep out’n de bushes an’ bark at ’im; Mr. Mink show ’im de green
eyes, an’ Mr. Whipperwill scol’ ’im.
“He move ’bout, he did, an’ atter so long a time dey let ’im ’lone, an’
den when dey wa’n’t nobody ner nothin’ pesterin’ ’im, he ’gun ter look
roun’ fer hisse’f. Peepin’ fust in one bush an’ den in an’er, he tuck
notice dat all de birds what fly by day had done gone ter bed widout der
heads. Look whar he mought, ol’ Craney-Crow ain’t see na’er bird but what
had done tuck his head off ’fo’ he went ter bed. Look close ez he kin, he
ain’t see no bird wid a head on. Dis make ’im wonder, an’ he ax hisse’f
how come dis, an’ de onliest answer what he kin think un is dat gwine
ter bed wid der heads on wuz done gone out er fashion in dat part er de
country.
“Now, you kin say what you please ’bout de creeturs an’ der kin’--’bout
de fowls dat fly, an’ de feathery creeturs what run on de groun’--you
kin say what you please ’bout um, but dey got pride; dey don’t wanter be
out’n de fashion. When it comes ter dat, deyer purty much like folks, an’
dat ’uz de way wid ol’ Craney-Crow; he don’t wanter be out er fashion. He
’shame’ fer ter go ter bed like he allers been doin’, kaze he ain’t want
de yuthers fer ter laugh an’ say he ’uz fum de country deestrick, whar
dey dunno much. Yit, study ez he mought, he dunner which a-way ter do fer
ter git his head off. De yuthers had der heads un’ der wing. But he ain’t
know dat.
“He look roun’, he did, fer ter see ef dey ain’t some un he kin ax ’bout
it, an’ he ain’t hatter look long nudder, fer dar, settin’ right at ’im,
wuz ol’ Brer Pop-Eye.”
“But, Uncle Remus, who was old Brother Pop-Eye?” inquired the little boy.
“Nobody in all de roun’ worl’, honey, but Brer Rabbit. He had one name
fer de uplan’ an’ an’er name fer de bottom lan’--de swamps an’ de dreens.
Wharsomever dar wuz any mischieviousness gwine on, right dar wuz Brer
Rabbit ez big ez life an’ twice ez natchul. He wuz so close ter ol’
Craney-Crow dat he hatter jump when he seed ’im. Brer Pop-Eye say: ‘No
needs fer ter be skeer’d, frien’ Craney-Crow. You may be mo’ dan sho dat
I’m a well-wisher.’ Ol’ Craney-Crow ’low: ‘It do me good fer ter hear
you sesso, Mr. Pop-Eye, an’ seein’ dat it’s you an’ not some un else, I
don’t min’ axin’ you how all de flyin’ birds takes der heads off when dey
go ter bed. It sho stumps me.’ Brer Pop-Eye say, ‘An’ no wonder, frien’
Craney-Crow, kaze youer stranger in deze parts. Dey ain’t nothin’ ter
hide ’bout it. De skeeters is been so bad in dis Swamp sence de year one,
an’ endurin’ er de time what’s gone by, dat dem what live here done got
in de habits er takin’ off der heads an’ puttin’ um in a safe place.’
“De Craney-Crow ’low: ‘But how in de name er goodness does dey do it,
Brer Pop-Eye?’ Mr. Pop-Eye laugh ter hisse’f ’way down in his gizzard.
He say: ‘Dey don’t do it by deyse’f, kaze dat ’ud be axin’ too much. Oh,
no! dey got some un hired fer ter do dat kin’ er work.’ ‘An’ whar kin I
fin’ ’im, Brer Pop-Eye?’ sez ol’ Craney-Crow, sezee. Brer Pop-Eye ’low:
‘He’ll be roun’ terreckly; he allers hatter go roun’ fer ter see dat he
ain’t miss none un um.’ Ol’ Craney-Crow sorter study, he did, an’ den he
’low: ‘How does dey git der heads back on, Brer Pop-Eye?’ Brer Pop-Eye
shuck his head. He say: ‘I’d tell you ef I know’d, but I hatter stay up
so much at night, dat ’long ’bout de time when dey gits der heads put
on, I’m soun’ asleep an’ sno’in’ right along. Ef you sesso, I’ll hunt
up de doctor what does de business, an’ I speck he’ll commerdate you--I
kin prommus you dat much, sence you been so perlite.’ Ol’ Craney-Crow
laugh an’ say: ‘I done fin’ out in my time dat dey don’t nothin’ pay like
perliteness, speshually ef she’s ginnywine.’
“Wid dat, Brer Pop-Eye put out, he did, fer ter fin’ Brer Wolf. Knowin’
purty well whar he wuz, ’twant long ’fo’ here dey come gallopin’ back.
Brer Pop-Eye say: ‘Mr. Craney-Crow, dis is Mr. Dock Wolf; Mr. Dock Wolf,
dis is Mr. Craney-Crow; glad fer ter make you ’quainted, gents.’” At
this point, Uncle Remus paused and glanced at the little boy, who was
listening to the story with almost breathless interest. “You ain’t got
yo’ hankcher wid you, is you?” the old man inquired gently.
“Mother always makes me carry a handkerchief,” the child replied, “and it
makes the pocket of my jacket stick out. Why did you ask, Uncle Remus?”
“Kaze we er comin’ ter de place whar you’ll need it,” said the old man.
“You better take it out an’ hol’ it in yo’ han’. Ef you got any tears
inside er you, dey’ll come ter de top now.”
The child took out his handkerchief, and held it in his hand obediently.
“Well, suh,” Uncle Remus went on, “atter dey been made ’quainted, ol’
Craney-Crow tell Dock Wolf ’bout his troubles, an’ how he wanter do like
de rest er de flyin’ creeturs, an’ Dock Wolf rub his chin an’ put his
thumb in his wescut pocket fer all de worl’ like a sho nuff doctor. He
say ter ol’ Craney-Crow dat he ain’t so mighty certain an’ sho dat he
kin he’p ’im much. He say dat in all his born days he ain’t never see
no flyin’ creetur wid sech a long neck, an’ dat he’ll hatter be mighty
intickler how he fool wid it. He went close, he did, an’ feel un it an’
fumble wid it, an’ all de time his mouf wuz waterin’ des like yone do
when you see a piece er lemon pie.
“He say: ‘You’ll hatter hol’ yo’ head lower, Mr. Craney-Crow,’ an’ wid
dat he snap down on it, an’ dat wuz de last er dat Craney-Crow. He
ain’t never see his home no mo’, an’ mo’ dan dat, ol’ Dock Wolf slung
’im ’cross his back an’ cantered off home. An’ dat’s de reason dat de
Craney-Crows all fly so fas’ when dey come thoo dis part er de country.”
“But why did you ask me to take out my handkerchief, Uncle Remus?”
“Kaze I wanter be on de safe side,” remarked the old man with much
solemnity. “Ef you got a hankcher when you cry, you kin wipe off de
weeps, an’ you kin hide de puckers in yo’ face.”
VIII
BROTHER FOX FOLLOWS THE FASHION
The little boy was not sure whether Uncle Remus had finished the story;
it would have been hard for a grown man to keep up with the whimsical
notions of the venerable old darkey, and surely you couldn’t expect a
little bit of a boy, who had had no experience to speak of, to do as
well. The little lad waited a while, and, seeing that Uncle Remus showed
no sign of resuming the narrative, he spoke up. “I didn’t see anything to
cry about,” he remarked.
“Well, some folks cries, an’ yuther folks laughs. Dey got der reasons,
too. Now, I dunno dat ol’ Brer Rabbit wuz hard-hearted er col’-blooded
any mo’ dan de common run er de creeturs, but it look like he kin see
mo’ ter tickle ’im dan ye yuthers, an’ he wuz constant a-laughin’. Mos’
er de time he’d laugh in his innerds, but den ag’in, when sump’n tetch
his funny-bone, he’d open up wid a big ha-ha-ha dat ’ud make de yuther
creeturs take ter de bushes.
“An’ dat ’uz de way he done when ol’ Craney-Crow had his head tooken off
fer ter be in de fashion. He laugh an’ laugh twel it hurt ’im ter laugh,
an’ den he laugh some mo’ fer good medjur. He laughed plum twel mornin’,
an’ den he laugh whiles he wuz rackin’ on todes home. He’d lope a little
ways, an’ den he’d set down by de side er de road an’ laugh some mo’.
Whiles he gwine on dis a-way, he come ter de place whar Brer Fox live at,
an’ den it look like he can’t git no furder. Ef a leaf shook on de tree,
it ’ud put ’im in min’ er de hoppin’ an’ jumpin’ an’ scufflin’ dat ol’
Craney-Crow done when Dock Wolf tuck an’ tuck off his head fer ’im.
“Ez luck would have it, Brer Fox wuz out in his pea-patch fer ter see
how his crap wuz gittin’ on, an’ huntin’ roun’ fer ter see ef dey wuz any
stray tracks whar somebody had bin atter his truck. Whiles he wuz lookin’
roun’ he hear some un laughin’ fit ter kill, an’ he looked over de fence
fer ter see who ’tis. Dar wuz Brer Rabbit des a-rollin’ in de grass an’
laughin’ hard ez he kin. Brer Fox ’low: ‘Heyo, Brer Rabbit! what de name
er goodness de matter wid you?’ Brer Rabbit, in de middle er his laughin’
can’t do nothin’ but shake his head an’ kick in de grass.
“’Bout dat time, ol’ Miss Fox stuck ’er head out’n de winder fer ter see
what gwine on. She say, ‘Sandy, what all dat fuss out dar? Ain’t you know
dat de baby’s des gone ter sleep?’ Brer Fox, he say, ‘’Tain’t nobody in
de roun’ worl’ but Brer Rabbit, an’ ef I ain’t mighty much mistooken, he
done gone an’ got a case er de highstericks.’ Ol’ Miss Fox say, ‘I don’t
keer what he got, I wish he’d go on ’way fum dar, er hush up his racket.
He’ll wake de chillun, an’ dem what ain’t ’sleep he’ll skeer de wits
out’n ’um.’
“Wid dat, ol’ Brer Rabbit cotch his breff, an’ pass de time er day wid
Brer Fox an’ his ol’ ’oman. Den he say, ‘You see me an’ you hear me, Brer
Fox; well, des ez you see me now, dat de way I been gwine on all night
long. I speck maybe it ain’t right fer ter laugh at dem what ain’t got
de sense dey oughter been born wid, but I can’t he’p it fer ter save my
life; I try, but de mo’ what I try de wusser I gits. I oughter be at
home right now, an’ I would be ef it hadn’t ’a’ been fer sump’n I seed
las’ night,’ an’ den he went ter laughin’ ag’in. Ol’ Miss Fox, she fix
de bonnet on her head, an’ den she say, ‘What you see, Brer Rabbit? It
mus’ be mighty funny; tell us ’bout it, an’ maybe we’ll laugh wid you.’
Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘I don’t min’ tellin’ you, ma’am, ef I kin keep fum
laughin’, but ef I hatter stop fer ter ketch my breff, I know mighty well
dat you’ll skuzen me.’ Ol’ Miss Fox say, ‘Dat we will, Brer Rabbit.’
“Wid dat Brer Rabbit up an’ tol’ all ’bout ol’ Craney-Crow comin’ in de
Swamp, an’ not knowin’ how ter go ter bed. He say dat de funny part un
it wuz dat ol’ Craney-Crow ain’t know dat when anybody went ter bed dey
oughter take der head off, an’ den he start ter laughin’ ag’in. Ol’ Miss
Fox look at her ol’ man an’ he look at her; dey dunner what ter say er
how ter say it.
“Brer Rabbit see how dey er doin’, but he ain’t pay no ’tention. He
’low, ‘Dat ol’ Craney-Crow look like he had travel fur an’ wide; he look
like he know what all de fashions is, but when he got in de Swamp an’ see
all de creeturs--dem what run an’ dem what fly--sleepin’ wid der heads
off, he sho’ wuz tuck back; he say he ain’t never her er sech doin’s ez
dat. You done seed how country folks do--well, des dat a-way he done.
I been tryin’ hard fer ter git home, an’ tell my ol’ ’oman ’bout it,
but eve’y time I gits a good start it pop up in my min’ ’bout how ol’
Craney-Crow done when he fin’ out what de fashion wuz in dis part er de
country.’ An’ den Brer Rabbit sot inter laughin’, and Brer Fox an’ ol’
Miss Fox dey j’ined in wid ’im, kaze dey ain’t want nobody fer ter git de
idee dat dey don’t know what de fashion is, speshually de fashion in de
part er de country whar dey er livin’ at.
“Ol’ Miss Fox, she say dat ol’ Craney-Crow must be a funny sort er
somebody not ter know what de fashions is, an’ Brer Fox he ’gree twel he
grin an’ show his tushes. He say he ain’t keerin’ much ’bout fashions
hisse’f, but he wouldn’t like fer ter be laughed at on de ’count er
plain ignunce. Brer Rabbit, he say he ain’t makin’ no pertence er doin’
eve’ything dat’s done, kaze he ain’t dat finnicky, but when fashions is
comfertubble an’ coolin’ he don’t min’ follerin’ um fer der own sake ez
well ez his’n. He say now dat he done got in de habits er sleepin’ wid
his head off, he wouldn’t no mo’ sleep wid it on dan he’d fly.
“Ol’ Miss Fox, she up ’n’ spon’, ‘I b’lieve you, Brer Rabbit--dat I
does!’ Brer Rabbit, he make a bow, he did, an’ ’low, ‘I know mighty well
dat I’m ol’-fashion’, an’ dey ain’t no ’nyin’ it, Miss Fox, but when de
new gineration hit on ter sump’n dat’s cool an’ comfertubble, I ain’t de
man ter laugh at it des kaze it’s tollerbul new. No, ma’am! I’ll try it,
an’ ef it work all right I’ll foller it; ef it don’t, I won’t. De fus’
time I try ter sleep wid my head off I wuz kinder nervious, but I soon
got over dat, an’ now ef it wuz ter go out fashion, I’d des keep right
on wid it, I don’t keer what de yuthers ’d think. Dat’s me; dat’s me all
over.’
“Bimeby, Brer Rabbit look at de sun, an’ des vow he bleeze ter git home.
He wish ol’ Miss Fox mighty well, an’ made his bow, an’ put out down de
road at a two-forty gait. Brer Fox look kinder sheepish when his ol’
’oman look at ’im. He say dat de idee er sleepin’ wid yo’ head off is
bran new ter him. Ol’ Miss Fox ’low dat dey’s a heap er things in dis
worl’ what he dunno, an’ what he won’t never fin’ out. She say, ‘Here I
is a-scrimpin’ an’ a-workin’ my eyeballs out fer ter be ez good ez de
bes’, an’ dar you is a projickin’ roun’ an’ not a-keerin’ whedder yo’
fambly is in de fashion er not.’ Brer Fox ’low dat ef sleepin’ wid yo’
head off is one er de fashions, he fer one ain’t keerin’ ’bout tryin’.
Ol’ Miss Fox say, ‘No, an’ you ain’t a-keerin’ what folks say ’bout
yo’ wife an’ fambly. No wonder Brer Rabbit had ter laugh whiles he wuz
tellin’ you ’bout Craney-Crow, kaze you stood dar wid yo’ mouf open like
you ain’t got no sense. It’ll be a purty tale he’ll tell his fambly ’bout
de tacky Fox fambly.’
“Wid dat Ol’ Miss Fox switch away fum de winder an’ went ter cleanin’
up de house, an’ bimeby Brer Fox went in de house hopin’ dat brekfus wuz
ready; but dey wa’n’t no sign er nothin’ ter eat. Atter so long a time,
Brer Fox ax when he wuz gwine ter git brekfus’. His ol’ ’oman ’low dat
eatin’ brekfus’ an’ gittin’ it, too, wuz one er de fashions. Ef he ain’t
follerin’ fashions, she ain’t needer. He ain’t say no mo’, but went off
behin’ de house an’ had a mighty time er thinkin’ an’ scratchin’ fer
fleas.
“When bedtime come, ol’ Miss Fox wuz mighty tired, an’ she ain’t
a-keerin’ much ’bout fashions right den. Des ez she wuz fixin’ fer ter
roll ’erse’f in de kivver, Brer Fox come in fum a hunt he’d been havin’.
He fotch a weasel an’ a mink wid ’im, an’ he put um in de cubberd whar
dey’d keep cool. Den he wash his face an’ han’s, an’ ’low dat he’s ready
fer ter have his head tooken off fer de night, ef his ol’ ’oman’ll be so
good ez ter he’p ’im.
“By dat time ol’ Miss Fox had done got over de pouts, but she ain’t got
over de idee er follerin’ atter de fashions, an’ so she say she’ll be
glad fer ter he’p ’im do what’s right, seein’ dat he’s so hard-headed
in gin’ul. Den come de knotty part. Na’er one un um know’d what dey wuz
’bout, an’ dar dey sot an’ jowered ’bout de bes’ way fer ter git de head
off. Brer Fox say dey ain’t but one way, less’n you twis’ de head off,
an’ goodness knows he ain’t want nobody fer ter be twis’in’ his neck,
kaze he ticklish anyhow. Dat one way wuz ter take de ax an’ cut de head
off. Ol’ Miss Fox, she squall, she did, an’ hol’ up her han’s like she
skeer’d.
“Brer Fox sot dar lookin’ up de chimbley. Bimeby his ol’ ’oman ’low, ‘De
ax look mighty skeery, but one thing I know, an’ dat ain’t two, it ain’t
gwineter hurt you ef it’s de fashion. Brer Fox kinder work his under jaw,
but he ain’t sayin’ nothin’. So his ol’ ’oman went out ter de woodpile
an’ got de ax, an’ den she say, ‘I’m ready, honey, whenever you is,’ an’
Brer Fox, he ’spon’, ‘I’m des ez ready now ez I ever is ter be,’ an’ wid
dat she up wid de ax an’ _blip!_ she tuck ’im right on de neck. De head
come right off wid little er no trouble, an’ ol’ Miss Fox laugh an’ say
ter herse’f dat she glad dey follerin’ de fashion at las’.
“Brer Fox sorter kick an’ squirm when de head fus’ come off, but his ol’
’oman ’low dat dat wuz de sign he wuz dreamin’, an’ atter he lay right
still she say he wuz havin’ a better night’s res’ dan what he’d had in a
mighty long time. An’ den she happen fer ter think dat whiles her ol’ man
done gone an’ got in de fashion, dar she wuz ready fer ter go ter bed wid
’er head on. She dunner how ter git ’er head off, an’ she try ter wake up
her ol’ man, but it look like he wuz one er dem stubborn kinder sleepers
what won’t be woken’d atter dey once drap off. She shake ’im an’ holler
at ’im, but ’tain’t do no good. She can’t make ’im stir, spite er all de
racket she make, an’ she hatter go ter bed wid her head on.
“She went ter bed, she did, but she ain’t sleep good, kaze she had
trouble in de min’. She’d wake up an’ turn over, an’ roll an’ toss, an’
wonder what de yuther creeturs’d say ef dey know’d she wuz so far outer
de fashion ez ter sleep wid ’er head on. An’ she had bad dreams; she
dremp dat Brer Rabbit wuz laughin’ at ’er, an’ she start fer ter run at
’im, an’ de fust news she know’d de dogs wuz on her trail an’ gwine in
full cry. ’Twuz dat a-way all night long, an’ she wuz mo’ dan thankful
when mornin’ come.
[Illustration: “_So his ol’ ’oman went out ter de woodpile an’ got de
ax_”]
“She try ter wake up her ol’ man, but still he won’t be woke. He lay dar,
he did, an’ won’t budge, an’ bimeby ol’ Miss Fox git mad an’ go off an’
leave ’im. Atter so long a time she went back ter whar he wuz layin’, an’
he wuz des like she lef’ ’im. She try ter roust ’im up, but he won’t be
rousted. She holler so loud dat Brer Rabbit which he wuz gwine by, got de
idee dat she wuz callin’ him, an’ he stick his head in de do’ an’ ’low,
‘Is you callin’ me, ma’am?’
“She say, ‘La! Brer Rabbit? I ain’t know you wuz anywheres aroun’. I been
tryin’ fer ter wake up my ol’ man; he mo’ lazier dis mornin’ dan I ever
is know ’im ter be. Ef my house wa’n’t all to’ up, I’d ax you in an’ git
you ter drag ’im out an’ git ’im up.’
“Brer Rabbit say, ‘Ef dey ain’t nothin’ de matter wid Brer Fox he’ll git
up in good time.’ Ol’ Miss Fox ’low, ‘La! I dunner what you call good
time. Look at de sun--it’s ’way up yander, an’ dar he is sleepin’ like a
log. ’Fo’ he went ter bed he made me take his head off, an’ he ain’t woke
up sence.’ ‘An’ how did you git it off, mum?’ sez ol’ Brer Rabbit, sezee.
‘I tuck an’ tuck de ax an’ cut it off,’ se’she. Wid dat Brer Rabbit flung
bofe han’s over his face, an’ mosied off like he wuz cryin’. Fum de way
he look you’d ’a’ thunk his heart wuz broke; yit he wa’n’t cryin’.”
“Then what was he doing, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked.
“Des a-laughin’--laughin’ fit ter kill. When ol’ Miss Fox see ’im gwine
long like he wuz cryin’, she spicion’d dat sump’n wuz wrong, an’ sho
’nuff ’twuz, kaze Brer Fox ain’t wake up no mo’. She ’low, ‘Ol’ honey
look like he dead, but he better be dead dan outer de fashion!’
“I take notice, honey, dat you ain’t use yo’ hankcher yit. What de matter
wid you? Is yo’ weeps all dry up?”
The child laughed and stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket.
[Illustration: “_She dremp dat Brer Rabbit wuz laughin’ at ’er_”]
IX
WHY THE TURKEY BUZZARD IS BALD-HEADED
“Mother,” said the little boy one day, “do you know why the turkey
buzzards are bald?”
“Why, no,” replied the young mother, very much surprised. “I didn’t even
know they were bald. But why do you ask such a silly question?”
“Because Uncle Remus said you knew why they are bald.”
“You tell Uncle Remus,” said the grandmother, laughing heartily, “that I
say he is an old rascal, and he had better behave himself.”
The way of it was this: The little boy had been walking out in the
fields with Uncle Remus, and had seen, away up in the sky, two or three
turkey buzzards floating lazily along on motionless wings. From the
fields they had gone into the woods, and in these woods they had found
what Uncle Remus had said was a buzzard’s nest. It was in a hollow tree,
flat on the ground, and when they came near, the mother buzzard issued
forth from the hollow, with such a hissing and flapping of wings that the
little boy was frightened for a moment.
“Go on ’way fum here, you bald-headed ol’ rapscallion; ef you don’t I’ll
do you wuss dan Brer Rabbit done you. Honey,” he went on, turning to the
child, “you better put yo’ hankcher ter yo’ nose ef you gwineter look in
dat nes’, kaze ol’ Miss Turkey Buzzard is a scandalious housekeeper.”
The child did as he was bid, and, peeping in the nest, he saw two young
ones, as white as goslings. While he was peeping in he got a whiff of the
odor of the buzzards, and turned and ran away from the place as hard as
he could. Uncle Remus followed suit, and hobbled away as fast as his legs
could carry him. When they were both out of range of the buzzard’s nest,
they stopped and laughed at each other.
“You nee’nter be skeer’d dat anything’ll ketch you, honey. Dey ain’t
nothin’ but a race-hoss got yo’ gait. Why, ef I hadn’t ’a’ been wid you,
you’d ’a’ been home by now, kaze you’d ’a’ started when ol’ Miss Buzzard
fus flew out er dat hole.”
The little boy made no denial, for he knew that what Uncle Remus said had
much more than a grain of truth in it. Besides, he was thinking of other
things just then. He soon made known what it was. “Why did you call the
buzzard bald-headed, Uncle Remus?”
“A mighty good reason,” responded the old man. “Dey ain’t no mo’ got
fedders on de top er der head dan you got ha’r in de pa’m er yo’ han’.
You ketch one un um, an’ ef you kin hol’ yo’ breff long nuff ter look,
you’ll see dat I’m tellin’ you de trufe. I ain’t blamin’ um fer dat,
kaze dey got a mighty good reason fer bein’ bal’-headed. Dey’s mighty
few folks dat know what de reason is, an’ one un um is yo’ ma. Ef you’ll
kinder coax ’er, I speck she’ll tell you.”
This was what led up to the question the child had asked his mother, and
was the occasion of the grandmother’s laughing remark that Uncle Remus
was an old rascal.
The little boy gave Uncle Remus the full particulars the next time he
saw him. The old man laughed merrily when he heard that his Miss Sally
had called him an old rascal. “Talk ’bout yo’ smart wimmen folks!” he
exclaimed. “Dey ain’t na’er man in de worl’ what kin hol’ a candle ter
yo’ gran’ma; an’ des ez you see ’er now, dat des de way she been sence
she wuz a gal. She know what you gwineter say long ’fo’ you kin git de
words out ’n yo’ mouf; she kin look right thoo you an’ tell you what you
thinkin’ ’bout. You may laugh all you wanter, but ef youer feelin’ bad
she’ll know it. When Miss Sally goes an’ dies, dey won’t be na’er nudder
somebody fer ter take her place. Dey ain’t no two ways ’bout dat.”