here come King Sun’s house-gal atter a bucket er water. She let down de
step-ladder an’ come singin’ ter de spring. She drapped her bucket in,
an’ de Spring Lizzard stepped in, an’ crope roun’ ter whar de shadder
wuz de heaviest. De gal clomb up de step-ladder, an’ pulled it atter
her, an’ went ’long de path ter King Sun’s house. She took de water in
de settin’-room fer ter gi’ King Sun a fresh drink, an’ he grabbed up de
gourd an’ drunk an’ drunk twel it look like he gwineter bust. Atter dat
he went in de liberry, an’ de Spring Lizzard crope out an’ lef’ Brer Deer
note on de table, an’ den he crope back in de bucket.
“Atter while, King Sun’s daughter come bouncin’ in de room atter a
drink er water, an’ she see de note. She grab it up an’ read it, an’ den
she holler: ‘Pa, oh, pa! here’s a letter fer you, an’ I mos’ know dey’s
sump’n in it ’bout me! La! I dunner who ’tis dat’s got de impidence fer
ter put my name in a letter.’ Ol’ King Sun run his fingers thoo his
beard, des like he combin’ it, an’ den he cle’r up his thoat. He take
de letter an’ hol’ it off fum ’im, an’ den put on his specks. He ’low,
‘Well, well, well! who’d a thunk it?’ an’ den he look at his daughter.
She look at de flo’ an’ pat ’er foot. He say, ‘I ain’t never hear er sech
impidence.’ De gal ’low, ‘What do he say, pa?’ Wid dat, he han’ ’er de
letter, an’ when she read it, she got red in de face, an’ den she got
white. She think one way, an’ den she think an’er. She got mad an’ she
got glad, an’ den she had de all-overs, des like gals does deze days when
some un ax um fer ter have um.
“So den, dar ’twuz; Brer Deer want ter marry de gal, an’ de gal dunner
whedder she wanter marry er not. Den ol’ King Sun got his pen, an’ put a
little water in de ink, kaze it wuz mighty nigh dried up, an’ den he writ
a letter back ter Brer Deer. He say dat ef de one what writ de letter
will sen’ ’im a bag er gold, he kin have de gal. He fol’ de letter up an’
han’ it ter de gal, an’ she not knowin’ what else ter do, tuck an’ put it
on de table whar she fin’ de yuther one.
“De Spring Lizzard had his eye on ’er, an’ when she went out’n de room,
he clomb up on de table an’ got de letter, an’ went back in de bucket
ag’in. Dat evenin’ de house-gal hatter fetch water fer de night, an’ she
let down de step-ladder an’ went ter de spring. When she dip de bucket
in, de Spring Lizzard, he slide out, an’ went ter his bed un’ de long
green moss. ’Twant long ’fo’ Brer Rabbit had de letter, an’ atter dat,
’twant no time ’fo’ Brer Deer know’d what de intents wuz. ’Twix’ an’
’twen um dey got up a bag er gold, an’ Brer Rabbit tuck it ter de spring
whar de house-gal got water.
“De nex’ mornin’ de daughter come ’erse’f, kaze she wanter see what
kinder man Brer Deer is. At de spring she fin’ a bag er gold. She clap
’er han’s an’ holler out: ‘Look what I fin’--fin’, fin’, fin’y! It’s
min’--min’, min’, min’y!’ Brer Rabbit wuz settin’ in de bushes, an’ Brer
Deer wa’n’t fur off, an’ dey bofe watch de gal a-prancin’ an’ dancin’;
an’ den, bimeby Brer Deer went out whar she kin see ’im, an’ he des walk
up ter ’er an’ say, ‘Look what I fin’; honey, youer mine!’ An’ dat ’uz de
way Brer Deer got ol’ King Sun’s daughter.”
XI
BROTHER RABBIT’S CRADLE
“I wish you’d tell me what you tote a hankcher fer,” remarked Uncle
Remus, after he had reflected over the matter a little while.
“Why, to keep my mouth clean,” answered the little boy.
Uncle Remus looked at the lad, and shook his head doubtfully. “Uh-uh!”
he exclaimed. “You can’t fool folks when dey git ez ol’ what I is. I been
watchin’ you now mo’ days dan I kin count, an’ I ain’t never see yo’ mouf
dirty ’nuff fer ter be wiped wid a hankcher. It’s allers clean--too clean
ter suit me. Dar’s yo’ pa, now; when he wuz a little chap like you, his
mouf useter git dirty in de mornin’ an’ stay dirty plum twel night. Dey
wa’ sca’cely a day dat he didn’t look like he been playin’ wid de pigs in
de stable lot. Ef he yever is tote a hankcher, he ain’t never show it ter
me.”
“He carries one now,” remarked the little boy with something like a
triumphant look on his face.
“Tooby sho’,” said Uncle Remus; “tooby sho’ he do. He start ter totin’
one when he tuck an’ tuck a notion fer ter go a-courtin’. It had his name
in one cornder, an’ he useter sprinkle it wid stuff out’n a pepper-sauce
bottle. It sho’ wuz rank, dat stuff wuz; it smell so sweet it make you
fergit whar you live at. I take notice dat you ain’t got none on yone.”
“No; mother says that cologne or any kind of perfumery on your
handkerchief makes you common.”
Uncle Remus leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and permitted a
heartrending groan to issue from his lips. The little boy showed enough
anxiety to ask him what the matter was. “Nothin’ much, honey; I wuz des
tryin’ fer ter count how many diffunt kinder people dey is in dis big
worl’, an’ ’fo’ I got mo’ dan half done wid my countin’, a pain struck me
in my mizry, an’ I had ter break off.”
“I know what you mean,” said the child. “You think mother is queer;
grandmother thinks so too.”
“How come you ter be so wise, honey?” Uncle Remus inquired, opening his
eyes wide with astonishment.
“I know by the way you talk, and by the way grandmother looks sometimes,”
answered the little boy.
Uncle Remus said nothing for some time. When he did speak, it was to
lead the little boy to believe that he had been all the time engaged in
thinking about something else. “Talkin’ er dirty folks,” he said, “you
oughter seed yo’ pa when he wuz a little bit er chap. Dey wuz long days
when you couldn’t tell ef he wuz black er white, he wuz dat dirty. He’d
come out’n de big house in de mornin’ ez clean ez a new pin, an’ ’fo’ ten
er-clock you couldn’t tell what kinder clof his cloze wuz made out’n.
Many’s de day when I’ve seed ol’ Miss--dat’s yo’ great-gran’mammy--comb
’nuff trash out’n his head fer ter fill a basket.”
The little boy laughed at the picture that Uncle Remus drew of his
father. “He’s very clean now,” said the lad loyally.
“Maybe he is an’ maybe he ain’t,” remarked Uncle Remus, suggesting a
doubt. “Dat’s needer here ner dar. Is he any better off clean dan what he
wuz when you couldn’t put yo’ han’s on ’im widout havin’ ter go an’ wash
um? Yo’ gran’mammy useter call ’im a pig, an’ clean ez he may be now, I
take notice dat he makes mo’ complaint er headache an’ de heartburn dan
what he done when he wuz runnin’ roun’ here half-naked an’ full er mud. I
hear tell dat some nights he can’t git no sleep, but when he wuz little
like you--no, suh, I’ll not say dat, bekaze he wuz bigger dan what you
is fum de time he kin toddle roun’ widout nobody he’pin’ him; but when
he wuz ol’ ez you an’ twice ez big, dey ain’t narry night dat he can’t
sleep--an’ not only all night, but half de day ef dey’d ’a’ let ’im. Dey
ought ter let you run roun’ here like he done, an’ git dirty. Dey ain’t
nothin’ mo’ wholesomer dan a peck er two er clean dirt on a little chap
like you.”
There is no telling what comment the child would have made on this
sincere tribute to clean dirt, for his attention was suddenly attracted
to something that was gradually taking shape in the hands of Uncle Remus.
At first it seemed to be hardly worthy of notice, for it had been only a
thin piece of board. But now the one piece had become four pieces, two
long and two short, and under the deft manipulations of Uncle Remus it
soon assumed a boxlike shape.
The old man had reached the point of his work where silence was necessary
to enable him to do it full justice. As he fitted the thin boards
together, a whistling sound issued from his lips, as though he were
letting off steam; but the singular noise was due to the fact that he
was completely absorbed in his work. He continued to fit and trim, and
trim and fit, until finally the little boy could no longer restrain his
curiosity. “Uncle Remus, what are you making?” he asked plaintively.
“Larroes fer ter kech meddlers,” was the prompt and blunt reply.
“Well, what are larroes to catch meddlers?” the child insisted.
“Nothin’ much an’ sump’n mo’. Dicky, Dicky, killt a chicky, an’ fried it
quicky, in de oven, like a sloven. Den ter his daddy’s Sunday hat, he
tuck ’n’ hitched de ol’ black cat. Now what you reckon make him do dat?
Ef you can’t tell me word fer word an’ spellin’ fer spellin’ we’ll go out
an’ come in an’ take a walk.”
He rose, grunting as he did so, thus paying an unintentional tribute to
the efficacy of age as the partner of rheumatic aches and stiff joints.
“You hear me gruntin’,” he remarked--“well, dat’s bekaze I ain’t de
chicky fried by Dicky, which he e’t ’nuff fer ter make ’im sicky.” As he
went out the child took his hand, and went trotting along by his side,
thus affording an interesting study for those who concern themselves with
the extremes of life. Hand in hand the two went out into the fields, and
thence into the great woods, where Uncle Remus, after searching about for
some time, carefully deposited his oblong box, remarking: “Ef I don’t
make no mistakes, dis ain’t so mighty fur fum de place whar de creeturs
has der playgroun’, an’ dey ain’t no tellin’ but what one un um’ll creep
in dar when deyer playin’ hidin’, an’ ef he do, he’ll sho’ be our meat.”
“Oh, it’s a trap!” exclaimed the little boy, his face lighting up with
enthusiasm.
“An’ dey wa’n’t nobody here fer ter tell you!” Uncle Remus declared,
astonishment in his tone. “Well, ef dat don’t bang my time, I ain’t no
free nigger. Now, ef dat had ’a’ been yo’ pa at de same age, I’d ’a’ had
ter tel ’im forty-lev’m times, an’ den he wouldn’t ’a’ b’lieved me twel
he see sump’in in dar tryin’ fer ter git out. Den he’d say it wuz a trap,
but not befo’. I ain’t blamin’ ’im,” Uncle Remus went on, “kaze ’tain’t
eve’y chap dat kin tell a trap time he see it, an’ mo’ dan dat, traps
don’ allers ketch what dey er sot fer.”
He paused, looked all around, and up in the sky, where fleecy clouds
were floating lazily along, and in the tops of the trees, where the
foliage was swaying gently in the breeze. Then he looked at the little
boy. “Ef I ain’t gone an’ got los’,” he said, “ain’t so mighty fur fum de
place whar Mr. Man, once ’pon a time--not yo’ time ner yit my time, but
some time--tuck ’n’ sot a trap fer Brer Rabbit. In dem days, dey hadn’t
l’arnt how to be kyarpenters, an’ dish yer trap what I’m tellin’ you
’bout wuz a great big contraption. Big ez Brer Rabbit wuz, it wuz lots
too big fer him.
“Now, whiles Mr. Man wuz fixin’ up dis trap, Mr. Rabbit wa’n’t so mighty
fur off. He hear de saw--er-rash! er-rash!--an’ he hear de hammer--bang,
bang, bang!--an’ he ax hisse’f what all dis racket wuz ’bout. He see Mr.
Man come out’n his yard totin’ sump’n, an’ he got furder off; he see Mr.
Man comin’ todes de bushes, an’ he tuck ter de woods; he see ’im comin’
todes de woods, an’ he tuck ter de bushes. Mr. Man tote de trap so fur
an’ no furder. He put it down, he did, an’ Brer Rabbit watch ’im; he put
in de bait, an’ Brer Rabbit watch ’im; he fix de trigger, an’ still Brer
Rabbit watch ’im. Mr. Man look at de trap an’ it satchify him. He look at
it an’ laugh, an’ when he do dat, Brer Rabbit wunk one eye, an’ wiggle
his mustache, an’ chaw his cud.
“An’ dat ain’t all he do, needer. He sot out in de bushes, he did, an’
study how ter git some game in de trap. He study so hard, an’ he got so
errytated, dat he thumped his behime foot on de groun’ twel it soun’
like a cow dancin’ out dar in de bushes, but ’twant no cow, ner yit no
calf--’twuz des Brer Rabbit studyin’. Atter so long a time, he put out
down de road todes dat part er de country whar mos’ er de creeturs live
at. Eve’y time he hear a fuss, he’d dodge in de bushes, kaze he wanter
see who comin’. He keep on an’ he keep on, an’ bimeby he hear ol’ Brer
Wolf trottin’ down de road.
“It so happen dat Brer Wolf wuz de ve’y one what Brer Rabbit wanter
see. Dey was perlite ter one an’er, but dey wa’n’t no frien’ly feelin’
’twixt um. Well, here come ol’ Brer Wolf, hongrier dan a chicken-hawk on
a frosty mornin’, an’ ez he come up he see Brer Rabbit settin’ by de side
er de road lookin’ like he done los’ all his fambly an’ his friends ter
boot.
“Dey pass de time er day, an’ den Brer Wolf kinder grin an’ say,
‘Laws-a-massy, Brer Rabbit, what ail you? You look like you done had
a spell er fever an’ ague; what de trouble?’ ‘Trouble, Brer Wolf? You
ain’t never see no trouble twel you git whar I’m at. Maybe you wouldn’t
min’ it like I does, kaze I ain’t usen ter it. But I boun’ you done seed
me light-minded fer de las’ time. I’m done--I’m plum wo’ out,’ sez Brer
Rabbit, sezee. Dis make Brer Wolf open his eyes wide. He say, ‘Dis de
fus time I ever is hear you talk dat a-way, Brer Rabbit; take yo’ time
an’ tell me ’bout it. I ain’t had my brekkus yit, but dat don’t make no
diffunce, long ez youer in trouble. I’ll he’p you out ef I kin, an’ mo’
dan dat, I’ll put some heart in de work.’ When he say dis, he grin an’
show his tushes, an’ Brer Rabbit kinder edge ’way fum ’im. He say, ‘Tell
me de trouble, Brer Rabbit, an’ I’ll do my level bes’ fer ter he’p you
out.’
“Wid dat, Brer Rabbit ’low dat Mr. Man done been hire him fer ter take
keer er his truck patch, an’ keep out de minks, de mush-rats, an’ de
weasels. He say dat he done so well settin’ up night atter night, when
he des might ez well been in bed, dat Mr. Man prommus ’im sump’n extry
’sides de mess er greens what he gun ’im eve’y day. Atter so long a time,
he say, Mr. Man ’low dat he gwineter make ’im a present uv a cradle so he
kin rock de little Rabs ter sleep when dey cry. So said, so done, he say.
Mr. Man make de cradle an’ tell Brer Rabbit he kin take it home wid’ im.
He start out wid it, he say, but it got so heavy he hatter set it down in
de woods, an’ dat’s de reason why Brer Wolf seed ’im settin’ down by de
side er de road, lookin’ like he in deep trouble. Brer Wolf sot down, he
did, an’ study, an’ bimeby he say he’d like mighty well fer ter have a
cradle fer his chillun, long ez cradles wuz de style. Brer Rabbit say dey
been de style fer de longest, an’ ez fer Brer Wolf wantin’ one, he say he
kin have de one what Mr. Man make fer him, kaze it’s lots too big fer his
chillun. ‘You know how folks is,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. ‘Dey try ter do
what dey dunner how ter do, an’ dar’s der house bigger dan a barn, an’
dar’s de fence wid mo’ holes in it dan what dey is in a saine, an’ kaze
dey have great big chillun dey got de idee dat eve’y cradle what dey make
mus’ fit der own chillun. An’ dat’s how come I can’t tote de cradle what
Mr. Man make fer me mo’ dan ten steps at a time.’
“Brer Wolf ax Brer Rabbit what he gwineter do fer a cradle, an’ Brer
Rabbit ’low he kin manage fer ter git long wid de ol’ one twel he kin
’suade Mr. Man ter make ’im an’er one, an’ he don’t speck dat’ll be so
mighty hard ter do. Brer Wolf can’t he’p but b’lieve dey’s some trick in
it, an’ he say he ain’t see de ol’ cradle when las’ he wuz at Brer Rabbit
house. Wid dat, Brer Rabbit bust out laughin’. He say, ‘Dat’s been so
long back, Brer Wolf, dat I done fergit all ’bout it; ’sides dat, ef dey
wuz a cradle dar, I boun’ you my ol’ ’oman got better sense dan ter set
it in de parler, whar comp’ny comes; an’ he laugh so loud an’ long dat he
make Brer Wolf right shame er himse’f.
“He ’low, ol’ Brer Wolf did, ‘Come on, Brer Rabbit, an’ show me whar de
cradle is. Ef it’s too big fer yo’ chillun, it’ll des ’bout fit mine.’
An’ so off dey put ter whar Mr. Man done sot his trap. ’Twant so mighty
long ’fo’ dey got whar dey wuz gwine, an’ Brer Rabbit say, ‘Brer Wolf,
dar yo’ cradle, an’ may it do you mo’ good dan it’s yever done me!’ Brer
Wolf walk all roun’ de trap an’ look at it like ’twuz live. Brer Rabbit
thump one er his behime foots on de groun’ an’ Brer Wolf jump like some
un done shot a gun right at ’im. Dis make Brer Rabbit laugh twel he can’t
laugh no mo’. Brer Wolf, he say he kinder nervious ’bout dat time er de
year, an’ de leas’ little bit er noise’ll make ’im jump. He ax how he
gwineter git any purchis on de cradle, an’ Brer Rabbit say he’ll hatter
git inside an’ walk wid it on his back, kaze dat de way he done done.
“Brer Wolf ax what all dem contraptions on de inside is, an’ Brer Rabbit
’spon’ dat dey er de rockers, an’ dey ain’t no needs fer ter be skeer’d
un um, kaze dey ain’t nothin’ but plain wood. Brer Wolf say he ain’t
’zackly skeer’d, but he done got ter de p’int whar he know dat you better
look ’fo’ you jump. Brer Rabbit ’low dat ef dey’s any jumpin’ fer ter
be done, he de one ter do it, an’ he talk like he done fergit what dey
come fer. Brer Wolf, he fool an’ fumble roun’, but bimeby he walk in de
cradle, sprung de trigger, an’ dar he wuz! Brer Rabbit, he holler out,
‘Come on, Brer Wolf; des hump yo’se’f, an’ I’ll be wid you.’ But try ez
he will an’ grunt ez he may, Brer Wolf can’t budge dat trap. Bimeby Brer
Rabbit git tired er waitin’ an’ he say dat ef Brer Wolf ain’t gwineter
come on he’s gwine home. He ’low dat a frien’ what say he gwineter he’p
you, an’ den go in a cradle an’ drap off ter sleep, dat’s all he wanter
know ’bout um; an’ wid dat he made fer de bushes, an’ he wa’n’t a minnit
too soon, kaze here come Mr. Man fer ter see ef his trap had been sprung.
He look, he did, an’ sho’ nuff, it ’uz sprung, an’ dey wuz sump’n in dar,
too, kaze he kin hear it rustlin’ roun’ an’ kickin’ fer ter git out.
“Mr. Man look thoo de crack, an’ he see Brer Wolf, which he wuz so
skeer’d twel his eye look right green. Mr. Man say, ‘Aha! I got you, is
I?’ Brer Wolf say, ‘Who?’ Mr. Man laugh twel he can’t sca’cely talk, an’
still Brer Wolf say, ‘Who? Who you think you got?’ Mr. Man ’low, ‘I don’t
think, I knows. Youer ol’ Brer Rabbit, dat’s who you is.’ Brer Wolf say,
‘Turn me outer here, an’ I’ll show you who I is.’ Mr. Man laugh fit ter
kill. He ’low, ‘You neenter change yo’ voice; I’d know you ef I met you
in de dark. Youer Brer Rabbit, dat’s who you is.’ Brer Wolf say, ‘I ain’t
not; dat’s what I’m not!’
“Mr. Man look thoo de crack ag’in, an’ he see de short years. He ’low,
‘You done cut off yo’ long years, but still I knows you. Oh, yes! an’ you
done sharpen yo’ mouf an’ put smut on it--but you can’t fool me.’ Brer
Wolf say, ‘Nobody ain’t tryin’ fer ter fool you. Look at my fine long
bushy tail.’ Mr. Man ’low, ‘You done tied an’er tail on behime you, but
you can’t fool me. Oh, no, Brer Rabbit! You can’t fool me.’ Brer Wolf
say, ‘Look at de ha’r on my back; do dat look like Brer Rabbit?’ Mr. Man
’low, ‘You done wallered in de red san’, but you can’t fool me.’
“Brer Wolf say, ‘Look at my long black legs; do dey look like Brer
Rabbit?’ Mr. Man ’low, ‘You kin put an’er j’int in yo’ legs, an’ you kin
smut um, but you can’t fool me.’ Brer Wolf say, ‘Look at my tushes; does
dey look like Brer Rabbit?’ Mr. Man ’low, ‘You done got new toofies, but
you can’t fool me.’ Brer Wolf say, ‘Look at my little eyes; does dey
look like Brer Rabbit?’ Mr. Man ’low, ‘You kin squinch yo’ eyeballs, but
you can’t fool me, Brer Rabbit.’ Brer Wolf squall out, ‘I ain’t not Brer
Rabbit, an’ you better turn me out er dis place so I kin take hide an
ha’r off ’n Brer Rabbit.’ Mr. Man say, ‘Ef bofe hide an’ ha’r wuz off,
I’d know you, kaze ’tain’t in you fer ter fool me.’ An’ it hurt Brer Wolf
feelin’s so bad fer Mr. Man ter ’spute his word, dat he bust out inter a
big boo-boo, an’ dat’s ’bout all I know.”
“Did the man really and truly think that Brother Wolf was Brother
Rabbit?” asked the little boy.
“When you pin me down dat a-way,” responded Uncle Remus, “I’m bleeze
ter tell you dat I ain’t too certain an’ sho’ ’bout dat. De tale come
down fum my great-grandaddy’s great-grandaddy; it come on down ter my
daddy, an’ des ez he gun it ter me, des dat a-way I done gun it ter you.”
XII
BROTHER RABBIT AND BROTHER BULL-FROG
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 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 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 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. 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 bull-frogs have tails. I thought everybody knew that.”