dem days, er ef dey can’t, b’lievin’ er not b’lievin’ ain’t gwineter
he’p matters. Ol’ folks what live in dem times dey say de creeturs kin
talk, kaze dey done talk wid um, an’ dey tell it ter der chillun an’ der
chillun tell it ter der chillun right on down ter deze days. So den what
you gwineter do ’bout it--b’lieve dem what had it fum de ol’ folks dat
know’d, er dem what ain’t never hear nothin’ ’tall about it twel dey git
it second han’ fum a ol’ nigger man?”
The child perceived that Uncle Remus was hitting pretty close to home, as
the saying is, and he said nothing for a while. “I haven’t said that I
don’t believe them,” he remarked presently.
“Ef you said it, honey, you ain’t say it whar I kin hear you, but I take
notice dat you hol’ yo’ head on one side an’ kinder wrinkle yo’ face up
when I tell deze tales. Ef you don’t b’lieve um, tain’t no mo’ use fer me
ter tell um dan ’tis fer me ter fly.”
“My face always wrinkles when I laugh, Uncle Remus.”
“An’ when you cry,” responded the old man so promptly that the child
laughed, though he hardly knew what he was laughing at.
“I’m gwineter tell you one now,” remarked Uncle Remus, wiping a smile
from his face with the back of his hand, “an’ you kin take it er leave
it, des ez you please. Ef you see anything wrong in it anywhar, you kin
p’int it out ez we go ’long. I been tellin’ you dat Brer Rabbit wuz a
heap bigger in dem days dan what he is now. It looks like de fambly done
run ter seed, an’ I bet you dat ninety-nine thousan’ year fum dis ve’y
day, de Rabbit-tum-a-hash crowd won’ be bigger dan fiel’-mice--I bet you
dat. He wa’n’t only bigger, but he wuz mighty handy ’bout a farm, when he
tuck a notion, speshually ef Mr. Man had any greens in his truck-patch.
Well, one time, times wuz so hard dat he hatter hire out fer his vittles
an’ cloze. He had de idee dat he wuz gittin’ a mighty heap fer de work
he done, an Mr. Man tell his daughter dat he gittin’ Brer Rabbit mighty
cheap. Dey wuz bofe satchified, an’ when dat’s de case, eve’ybody else
oughter be satchified. Brer Rabbit kin hoe taters, an’ chop cotton, an’
fetch up breshwood, an’ split de kindlin, an’ do right smart.
“He say ter hisse’f, Brer Rabbit did, dat ef he ain’t gittin’ no money
an’ mighty few cloze, he boun’ he’d have a plenty vittles. De fust week
er two, he ain’t cut up no shines; he wuz gittin’ usen ter de place. He
stuck ter his work right straight along twel Mr. Man say he one er de
bes’ han’s on de whole place, an’ he tell his daughter dat she better set
’er cap fer Brer Rabbit. De gal she toss her head an’ make a mouf, but
all de samey she ’gun ter cas’ sheep eyes at ’im.
“One fine day, when de sun shinin’ mighty hot, Brer Rabbit ’gun ter git
mighty hongry. He say he want some water. Mr. Man say, ‘Dar de bucket,
an’ yan’ de spring. Eve’ything fix so you kin git water monstus easy.’
Brer Rabbit git de water, but still dey wuz a gnyawin’ in his stomach,
an’ bimeby he say he want some bread. Mr. Man say, ’Tain’t been so mighty
long sense you had brekkus, but no matter ’bout dat. Yan’s de house, in
de house you’ll fin’ my daughter, an’ she’ll gi’ you what bread you want.’
“Wid dat Brer Rabbit put out fer de house, an’ dar he fin’ de gal. She
say, ‘La, Brer Rabbit, you oughter be at work, but stidder dat here you
is at de house. I hear pap say dat youer mighty good worker, but ef dis
de way you does yo’ work, I dunner what make ’im sesso.’ Brer Rabbit
say, ‘I’m here, Miss Nancy, kaze yo’ daddy sont me.’ Miss Nancy ’low,
‘Ain’t you ’shame er yo’se’f fer ter talk dat a-way? You know pap ain’t
sont you.’ Brer Rabbit say, ‘Yassum, he did,’ an’ den he smole one er
deze yer lopsided smiles. Miss Nancy kinder hang ’er head an’ low, ‘Stop
lookin’ at me so brazen.’ Brer Rabbit stood dar wid his eyes shot, an’ he
ain’t say nothin’. Miss Nancy say, ‘Is you gone ter sleep? You oughter be
’shame fer ter drap off dat a-way whar dey’s ladies.’
“Brer Rabbit make a bow, he did, an’ ’low, ‘You tol’ me not ter look
at you, an’ ef I ain’t ter look at you, I des ez well ter keep my eyes
shot.’ De gal she giggle an’ say Brer Rabbit oughtn’t ter make fun er
her right befo’ her face an’ eyes. She ax what her pap sont ’im fer, an’
he ’low dat Mr. Man sont ’im for a dollar an’ a half, an’ some bread an’
butter. Miss Nancy say she don’t b’lieve ’im, an’ wid dat she run down
todes de fiel’ whar her pa wuz workin’ an’ holler at ’im--‘Pap! Oh, pap!’
Mr. Man make answer, ‘Hey?’ an’ de gal say, ‘Is you say what Brer Rabbit
say you say?’ Mr. Man he holler back dat dat’s des what he say, an’ Miss
Nancy she run back ter der house, an’ gi’ Brer Rabbit a dollar an’ a half
an’ some bread an’ butter.
“Time passed, an’ eve’y once in a while Brer Rabbit’d go ter de house
endurin’ de day, an’ tell Miss Nancy dat her daddy say fer ter gi’ ’im
money an’ some bread an’ butter. An’ de gal, she’d go part er de way
ter whar Mr. Man is workin’, an’ holler an’ ax ef he sesso, an’ Mr. Man
’d holler back, ‘Yes, honey, dat what I say.’ It got so atter while dat
dey ain’t so mighty much money in de house, an’ ’bout dat time, Miss
Nancy, she had a beau, which he useter come ter see her eve’y Sunday, an’
sometimes Sat’day, an’ it got so, atter while, dat she won’t skacely look
at Brer Rabbit.
[Illustration: “_De beau got ter flingin’ his sass roun’ Brer Rabbit_”]
“Dis make ’im laugh, an’ he kinder studied how he gwineter git even wid
um, kaze de beau got ter flingin’ his sass roun’ Brer Rabbit, an’ de gal,
she’d giggle, ez gals will. But Brer Rabbit des sot dar, he did, an’ chaw
his terbacker, an’ spit in de fier. But one day Mr. Man hear ’im talkin’
ter hisse’f whiles deyer workin’ in de same fiel’, and he ax Brer Rabbit
what he say. Brer Rabbit ’low dat he des try in’ fer ter l’arn a speech
what he hear a little bird say, an’ wid dat he went on diggin’ in de
groun’ des like he don’t keer whedder anything happen er not. But dis
don’t satchify Mr. Man, an’ he ax Brer Rabbit what de speech is. Brer
Rabbit ’low dat de way de little bird say it dey ain’t no sense ter it
fur ez he kin see. But Mr. Man keep on axin’ ’im what ’tis, an’ bimeby
he up an’ ’low, ‘De beau kiss de gal an’ call her honey; den he kiss her
ag’in, an’ she gi’ im de money.’
“Mr. Man say, ‘Which money?’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘Youer too much fer me.
Dey tells me dat money’s money, no matter whar you git it, er how you
git it. Ef de little bird wa’n’t singin’ a song, den I’m mighty much
mistooken.’ But dis don’ make Mr. Man feel no better dan what he been
feelin’. He went on workin’, but all de time de speech dat de little bird
made wuz runnin’ in his min’:
_“De beau kiss de gal, an’ call her honey;_
_Den he kiss her ag’in, an’ she gi’ ’im de money.”_
“He keep on sayin’ it over in his min’, an’ de mo’ he say it de mo’ it
worry him. Dat night when he went home, de beau wuz dar, an’ he wuz mo’
gayly dan ever. He flung sass at Brer Rabbit, an Brer Rabbit des sot
dar an’ chaw his terbacker, an’ spit in de fier. Den Mr. Man went ter
de place whar he keep his money, an’ he fin’ it mos’ all gone. He come
back, he did, an’ he say, ‘Whar my money?’ De gal, she ain’t wanter have
no words ’fo’ her beau, an’ ’spon’, ‘You know whar ’tis des ez well ez I
does,’ an’ de man say, ‘I speck youer right ’bout dat, an’ sence I does,
I want you ter pack up an’ git right out ter dis house an’ take yo’ beau
wid you.’ An’ so dar ’twuz.
“De gal, she cry some, but de beau muched her up, an’ dey went off an’
got married, an’ Mr. Man tuck all his things an’ move off somers, I
dunner whar, an’ dey wa’n’t nobody lef’ in dem neighberhoods but me an’
Brer Rabbit.”
“You and Brother Rabbit?” cried the little boy.
“Dat’s what I said,” replied Uncle Remus. “Me an’ Brer Rabbit. De gal,
she tol’ her chillun ’bout how Brer Rabbit had done her an’ her pa, an’
fum dat time on, deyer been persooin’ on atter him.”
[Illustration: “_De gal, she cry some, but dey went off an’ got
married_”]
XVI
THE HARD-HEADED WOMAN
Uncle Remus had observed a disposition on the part of the little boy
to experiment somewhat with his elders. The child had come down to the
plantation from the city such a model youngster that those who took an
interest in his behavior, and who were themselves living the free and
easy life possible only in the country places, were inclined to believe
that he had been unduly repressed. This was particularly the case with
the little fellow’s grandmother, who was aided and abetted by Uncle Remus
himself, with the result that the youngster was allowed liberties he had
never had before. The child, as might be supposed, was quick to take
advantage of such a situation, and was all the time trying to see how far
he could go before the limits of his privileges--new and inviting so far
as he was concerned--would be reached. They stretched very much farther
on the plantation than they would have done in the city, as was natural
and proper, but the child, with that adventurous spirit common to boys,
was inclined to push them still farther than they had ever yet gone; and
he soon lost the most obvious characteristics of a model lad.
Little by little he had pushed his liberties, the mother hesitating to
bring him to task for fear of offending the grandmother, whose guest she
was, and the grandmother not daring to interfere, for the reason that
it was at her suggestion, implied rather than direct, that the mother
had relaxed her somewhat rigid discipline. It was natural, under the
circumstances, that the little fellow should become somewhat wilful and
obstinate, and he bade fair to develop that spirit of disobedience that
will make the brightest child ugly and discontented.
Uncle Remus, as has been said, observed all these symptoms, and while
he had been the first to deplore the system that seemed to take all the
individuality out of the little fellow, he soon became painfully aware
that something would have to be done to renew the discipline that had
been so efficacious when the mother was where she felt free to exercise
her whole influence.
“You ain’t sick, is you, honey?” the old man inquired one day in an
insinuating tone. “Kaze ef you is, you better run back ter de house an’
let de white folks dose you up. Yo’ mammy knows des ’zackly de kinder
physic you need, an’ how much, an’ ef I ain’t mighty much mistooken,
’twon’t be so mighty long ’fo’ she’ll take you in han’.” The child looked
up quickly to see whether Uncle Remus was in earnest, but he could find
nothing in that solemn countenance that at all resembled playfulness.
“You may be well,” the old man went on, “but dey’s one thing certain an’
sho’--you don’t look like you did when you come ter we-all’s house, an’
you don’t do like you done. You may look at me ef you wanter, but I’m
a-tellin’ you de fatal trufe, kaze you ain’t no mo’ de same chil’ what
useter ’ten’ ter his own business all day an’ night--you ain’t no mo’ de
same chil’ dan I’m dat ol’ hen out dar. I ’low’d I mought be mistooken,
but I hear yo’ granny an’ yo’ mammy talkin’ t’er night atter you done
gone ter bed, an’ de talk dat dey talked sho’ did open my eyes, kaze I
never spected fer ter hear talk like dat.”
For a long time the little boy said nothing, but finally he inquired
what Uncle Remus had heard. “I ain’t no eavesdrapper,” the old man
replied, “but I hear ’nough fer ter last me whiles you stay wid us. I
dunner how long dat’ll be, but I don’t speck it’ll be long. Now des
look at you! Dar you is fumblin’ wid my shoe knife, an’ mos’ ’fo’ you
know it one een’ er yo’ finger will be down dar on de flo’, an’ you’ll
be a-squallin’ like somebody done killt you. Put it right back whar you
got it fum. Why n’t you put it down when I ax you?--an’ don’t scatter
my pegs! Put down dat awl! You’ll stob yo’se’f right in de vitals, an’
den Miss Sally will blame me. Laws-a-massy! take yo’ han’ outer dat peg
box! You’ll git um all over de flo’, an’ dey’ll drap thoo de cracks. I
be boun’ ef I take my foot in my han’, an’ go up yan’ an’ tell yo’ mammy
how good you is, she’ll make you take off yo’ cloze an’ go ter bed--dat’s
des ’zackly what she’ll do. An’ dar you is foolin’ wid my fillin’s!--an’,
bless gracious, ef you ain’t settin’ right flat-footed on my shoemaker’s
wax, an’ it right saft! I’ll hatter ax yo’ mammy ter please’m not let you
come down here no mo’ twel de day you start home!”
“I think you are very cross,” complained the child. “I never heard you
talk that way before. And grandmother is getting so she isn’t as nice as
she used to be.”
“Ah-yi!” exclaimed Uncle Remus in a triumphant tone. “I know’d it! you
done got so dat you won’t do a blessed thing dat anybody ax you ter do.
You done got a new name, an’ ’tain’t so new but what I can put bofe han’s
behime one, an’ shet my eyes an’ call it out. Eve’ybody on de place know
what ’tis, an’ I hear de ol’ red rooster callin’ it out de yuther day
when you wuz chunkin’ at ’im.” At once the little boy manifested interest
in what the old negro was saying, and when he looked up, curiosity shone
in his eyes. “What did the rooster say my name is, Uncle Remus?”
“Why, when you wuz atter him, he flew’d up on de lot fence, an’ he ’low,
‘Mr. Hardhead! Mr. Hardhead!’ an’ dat sho’ is yo’ name. You kin squirm,
an’ frown, an’ twis’, but dat rooster is sho’ got yo’ name down fine. Ef
he’d ’a’ des named you once, maybe folks would ’a’ fergot it off’n der
min’, but he call de name twice des ez plain ez he kin speak, an’ dar you
sets wid Mr. Hardhead writ on you des ez plain ez ef de rooster had a
put it on you wid a paint-brush. You can’t rub it off an’ you can’t walk
roun’ it.”
“But what must I do, Uncle Remus?”
“Des set still a minnit, an’ try ter be good. It may th’ow you in a high
fever fer ter keep yo’ han’s outer my things, er it may gi’ you a agur
fer ter be like you useter be, but it’ll pay you in de long run; it mos’
sholy will.”
“Well, if you want me to be quiet,” said the child, “you’ll have to tell
me a tale.”
“Ef you sit still too long, honey, I’m afeard de creeturs on de
plantation will git de idee dat sump’n done happen. Dar’s de ol’ sow--you
ain’t run her roun’ de place in de last ten minnits er sech a matter;
an’ dar’s de calf, an’ de chickens, an’ de Guinny hens, an’ de ol’ gray
gooses--dey’ll git de idee dat you done broke yo’ leg er yo’ arm; an’
dey’ll be fixin’ up fer ter have a frolic if dey miss you fer longer dan
fifteen minnits an’ a half. How you gwineter have any fun ef you set an’
lissen ter a tale stidder chunkin’ an’ runnin’ de creeturs? I mos’ know
you er ailin’ an’ by good rights de doctor oughter come an’ look at you.”
The little boy laughed uneasily. He was not the first that had been
sobered by the irony of Uncle Remus, which, crude though it was, was much
more effective than downright quarreling. “Yasser!” Uncle Remus repeated,
“de doctor oughter come an’ look at you--an’ when I say doctor, I mean
doctor, an’ not one er deze yer kin’ what goes roun’ wid a whole passel
er pills what ain’t bigger dan a gnat’s heart. What you want is a great
big double-j’inted doctor wid a big black beard an’ specks on, what’ll
fill you full er de rankest kin’ er physic. Ez you look now, you put me
in min’ er de ’oman an’ de dinner-pot; dey ain’t no two ways ’bout dat.”
“If it is a tale, please tell it, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy.
“Oh, it sho is a tale all right!” exclaimed the old man, “but you ain’t
no mo’ got time fer ter hear it dan de birds in de tree. You’d hatter
set still an’ lissen, an’ dat ’ud put you out a whole lot, kaze dar’s de
chickens ter be chunked, an’ de pigs ter be crippled an’ a whole lot er
yuther things fer ter be did, an’ dey ain’t nobody else in de roun’ worl’
dat kin do it ez good ez you kin. Well, you kin git up an’ mosey long ef
you wanter, but I’m gwineter tell dish yer tale ef I hatter r’ar my head
back an’ shet my eyeballs an’ tell it ter myse’f fer ter see ef I done
fergit it off’n my min’.
“Well, once ’pon a time--it mought ’a’ been in de year One fer all I
know--dey wuz a ’oman dat live in a little cabin in de woods not so
mighty fur fum water. Now, dis ’oman an’ dis cabin mought ’a’ been in de
Nunited State er Georgy, er dey mought ’a’ been in de Nunited State er
Yallerbammer--you kin put um whar you please des like I does. But at one
place er de yuther, an’ at one time er nuther, dis ’oman live dar des
like I’m a-tellin’ you. She live dar, she did, an’ fus’ an’ las’ dey wuz
a mighty heap er talk about her. Some say she wuz black, some say she wuz
mighty nigh white, an’ some say she wa’n’t ez black ez she mought be; but
dem what know’d, dey say she wuz nine parts Injun an’ one part human, an’
I speck dat’s des ez close ter trufe ez we kin git in dis kinder wedder
ef we gwineter keep cool.
“Fum all I kin hear--an’ I been keepin’ bofe years wide open, she wuz a
monstus busy ’oman, kaze it wuz de talk ’mongst de neighbors dat she done
a heap er things what she ain’t got no business ter do. She had a mighty
bad temper, an’ her tongue wuz a-runnin’ fum mornin’ twel night. Folks
say dat ’twuz long an’ loud an’ mighty well hung. Dey lissen an’ shake
der head, an’ atter while word went roun’ dat de ’oman done killt her
daughter. Ez ter dat, I ain’t never is hear de rights un it; she mought,
an’ den ag’in she moughtn’t--dey ain’t no tellin’--but dey wuz one thing
certain an’ sho’ she done so quare, dat folks say she cut up des like a
Friday-born fool.
“Her ol’ man, he done de best dat he could. He went ’long an’ ten’ ter
his own business, an’ when her tongue ’gun ter clack, he sot down an’
made fish-baskets, an’ ax-helves. But dat ain’t make no diffunce ter de
’oman, kaze she wuz one deze yer kin’ what could quoil all day whedder
dey wuz anybody fer ter quoil at er not. She quoiled an’ she quoiled. De
man, he ain’t say nothin’ but dis des make her quoil de mo’. He split up
kin’lin’ an’ chopped up wood, an’ still she quoil’; he fotch home meal
an’ he fotch home meat, but still she quoil’. An’ she ’fuse fer ter cook
what he want her to cook; she wuz hard-headed des like you, an’ she’d
have her own way ef she died fer it.
“Ef de man, he say, ‘Please ’m cook me some grits,’ she’d whirl in an’
bile greens; ef he ax fer fried meat, she’d bake him a hoe-cake er corn
bread. Ef he want roas’ tater she’d bile him a mess er beans, an’ all de
time, she’d be givin’ ’im de wuss kinder sass. Oh, she wuz a honey! An’
when it come ter low-down meanness, she wuz rank an’ ripe. She’d take
de sparrer-grass what he fotch, an’ kindle de fire wid it. She’d burn
de spar’-ribs an’ scorch de tripe, an’ she’d do eve’y kinder way but de
right way, an’ dat she wouldn’t do, not ter save yo’ life.
[Illustration: “_Den he shuck a gourd-vine flower over de pot_”]
“Well, dis went on an’ went on, an’ de man ain’t make no complaints; he
des watch an’ wait an’ pray. But atter so long a time, he see dat dat
ain’t gwine ter do no good, an’ he tuck an’ change his plans. He spit in
de ashes, he did, an’ he make a cross-mark, an’ turn roun’ twice so he
kin face de sunrise. Den he shuck a gourd-vine flower over de pot, an’
sump’n tol’ ’im fer ter take his res’ an’ wait twel de moon come up. All
dis time de ’oman, she wuz a quoilin’, but bimeby, she went on ’bout her
business, an’ de man had some peace; but not fer long. He ain’t no more
dan had time fer ter put some thunderwood buds an’ some calamus-root in
de pot, dan here she come, an’ she come a-quoilin’. She come in she did,
an’ she slam things roun’ des like you slams de gate.
“Atter kickin’ up a rippet, an’ makin’ de place hot ez she kin, de ’oman
made a big fire un’ de pot, an’ flew’d roun’ dar des like she tryin’ fer
ter cook a sho’ ’nough supper. She made some dumplin’s an’ flung um in de
pot; den she put in some peas an’ big pods er red pepper, an’ on top er
all she flung a sheep’s head. De man, he sot dar, an’ look straight at de
cross-mark what he done made in de ashes. Atterwhile, he ’gun to smell
de calamus-root a-cookin’ an’ he know’d by dat, dat sump’n wuz gwineter
happen.
“De pot, it biled, an’ biled, an’ fus’ news you know, de sheep’s head
’gun ter butt de dumplin’s out, an’ de peas, dey flew’d out an’ rattled
on de flo’ like a bag er bullets done busted. De ’oman, she run fer ter
see what de matter is, an’ when she got close ter de pot de steam fum de
thunderwood hit her in de face an’ eyes an’ come mighty nigh takin’ her
breff away. Dis kinder stumped ’er fer a minnit, but she had a temper big
’nough fer ter drag a bull down, an’ all she had ter do when she lose her
breff wuz ter fling her han’s in de a’r an’ fetch a snort, an’ dar she
wuz.
“She moughter been mad befo’, but dis time she wuz mighty nigh plum’
crazy. She look at de pot, an’ she look at her ol’ man; she shot her
eyeballs an’ clinched her han’s; she yerked off her head-hankcher, an’
pulled her ha’r loose fum de wroppin’-strings; she stomped her foot, an’
smashed her toofies tergedder.
“She railed at de pot; she ’low, ‘What ail you, you black Dickunce? I
b’lieve youer de own brer ter de Ol’ Boy! You been foolin’ wid me fer
de longest, an’ I ain’t gwine ter put up wid it! I’m gwineter tame you
down!’ Wid dat, she flung off de homespun sack what she been w’arin’ an’
run outer de house an’ got de ax.
“Her ol’ man say, ‘Whar you gwine, honey?’ She ’low, ‘I’m a gwine whar
I’m a gwine, dat’s whar I’m a gwine!’ De man, he ain’t spon’ ter dat
kinder talk, an’ de ’oman, she went out in back yard fer ter hunt fer de
ax. Look like she gwineter keep on gittin’ in trouble, kaze de ax wuz on
top er de wood what de man done pile up out dar. It wuz layin’ up dar,
de ax wuz, des ez slanchendicklar ez you please, but time it see her
comin’----”
“But, Uncle Remus!” the child exclaimed, “how could the ax see her?”
The old negro looked at the little boy with an expression of amazed
pity on his face. He looked all around the room and then raised his eyes
to the rafters, where a long cobweb was swaying slowly in a breeze so
light that nothing else would respond to its invitation. Then he sighed
and closed his eyes. “I wish yo’ pa wuz here right now, I mos’ sholy
does--yo’ pa, what useter set right whar youer settin’! You done been
raised in town whar dey can’t tell a ax fum a wheelbarrer. Ax ain’t got
no eye! Well, whoever is hear de beat er dat! Ef anybody else is got dat
idee, I’ll be much erbleege ef you’ll show um ter me. Here you is mighty
nigh big ’nough fer eat raw tater widout havin’ de doctor called in, an’
a-settin’ dar sayin’ dat axes ain’t got no eyes. Well, you ax yo’ gran’ma
when you go back ter de house an’ see what she say.
“Now, le’ me see; wharbouts wuz I at? Oh, yes! De ax wuz on top er
woodpile, an’ when it seed de ’oman comin’, it des turned loose an’ slip
down on de yuther side. It wa’n’t tryin’ fer ter show off, like I’ve seed
some folks ’fo’ now; it des turned loose eve’ything an’ fell down on de
yuther side er de woodpile. An’ whiles de ’oman wuz gwin roun’ atter it,
de ax, it clum back on top er de woodpile an’ fell off on t’er side. Dem
what handed de tale down ter me ain’t say how long de ’oman an’ de ax
keep dis up, but ef a ax is got eyes, it ain’t got but one leg, an’ it
must not ’a’ been so mighty long ’fo’ de ’oman cotch up wid it--an’ when
she did she wuz so mad dat she could ’a’ bit a railroad track in two, ef
dey’d ’a’ been one anywhar’s roun’ dar.
[Illustration: “_De ax, it clum back on top er de woodpile an’ fell off
on der side_”]
“Well, she got de ax, an’ it look like she wuz madder dan ever. De man,
he say, ‘Better let de pot ’lone, honey; ef you don’t you’ll sholy wish
you hadder.’ De ’oman, she squall out, ‘I’ll let you ’lone ef you fool
wid me, an’ ef I do you won’t never pester nobody no mo’.’ Man, he say,
‘I’m a-tellin’ you de trufe, honey, an’ dis may be de las’ chance you’ll
git ter hear it.’
“De ’oman raise de ax like she gwineter hit de man, an’ den it look like
she tuck a n’er notion, an’ she start todes de pot. De man, he ’low,
‘You better hear me, honey! You better drap de ax an’ go out doors an’
cool yo’se’f off, honey!’ It seem like he wuz a mighty saf’-spoken man,
wid nice feelin’s fer all. De ’oman, she say, ‘Don’t you dast ter honey
me--ef you does I’ll brain you stidder de pot!’ De man smole a long smile
an’ shuck his head; he say, ‘All de same, honey, you better pay ’tention
ter deze las’ words I’m a-tellin’ you!’
“But de ’oman, she des keep right on. She’d ’a’ gone faster dan what she
did, but it look like de ax got heavier eve’y step she tuck--heavier an’
heavier. An’ it look like de house got bigger--bigger an’ bigger; an’
it seem like de do’ got wider--wider an’ wider! She moughter seed all
dis, an’ I speck she did, but she des keep right on, shakin’ de ax, an’
moufin’ ter herse’f. De man, he holler once mo’ an’ fer de las’ time,
‘Don’t let ol’ Nick fool you, honey, ef you does, he sho will git you!’