wider. De pot see her comin’, an’ it got fum a-straddle er de fire, whar
it had been settin’ at, an’ skipped out’ de do’ an’ out in de yard.”
Uncle Remus paused to see what effect this statement would have on the
child, but save the shadow of a smile hovering around his mouth, the
youngster gave no indication of unbelief. “De ’oman,” said Uncle Remus,
with a chuckle that was repressed before it developed into a laugh, “look
like she ’stonish’, but her temper kep’ hot, an’ she run out atter de pot
wid de ax ez high ez she kin hol’ it; but de pot keep on gwine, skippin’
long on three legs faster dan de ’oman kin run on two; an’ de ax kep’ on
gittin’ heavier an’ heavier, twel, bimeby, de ’oman hatter drap it. Den
she lit out atter de pot like she wuz runnin’ a foot-race, but fast ez
she run, de pot run faster.
[Illustration: “_Den she lit out atter de pot like she wuz runnin’ a
foot-race_”]
“De chase led right inter de woods an’ down de spring branch, an’ away
over yander beyan’ de creek. De pot went so fast an’ it went so fur dat
atter while de ’oman ’gun ter git weak. But de temper she had helt ’er up
fer de longest, an’ mo’ dan dat, eve’y time she’d sorter slack up, de pot
would dance an’ caper roun’ on its three legs, an’ do like it’s givin’
her a dar’--an’ she keep a-gwine twel she can’t hardly go no furder.
“De man he stayed at de house, but de ’oman an’ de pot ain’t git so fur
but what he kin hear um scufflin’ an scramblin’ roun’ in de bushes, an’
he set dar, he did, an’ look like he right sorry fer anybody what’s ez
hard-headed ez de ’oman. But she look like she bleeze ter ketch dat pot.
She say ter herse’f dat folks will never git done talkin’ ’bout her ef
she let herse’f be outdone by a ol’ dinner-pot what been in de fambly
yever sence dey been any fambly.
“So she keep on, twel she tripped up on a vine er de bamboo brier, an’
down she come! It seem like de pot seed her, an’ stidder runnin’ fum ’er,
here it come a-runnin’ right at ’er wid a chunk er red fire. Oh, you kin
laugh, honey, an’ look like you don’t b’lieve me, but dat ain’t make no
diffunce, kaze de trufe ain’t never been hurted yit by dem what ain’t
b’lieve it. I dunner whar de chunk er fire come fum, an’ I dunner how
de dinner-pot come ter have motion, but dar ’tis in de tale--take it er
leave it, des ez you bleeze.
“Well, suh, when de ’oman fell, de pot made at her wid a chunk er red
fire. De ’oman see it comin’, an’ she set up a squall dat moughter been
heard a mile. She jump up, she did, but it seem like she wuz so weak an’
tired dat she can’t stan’ on her foots, an’ she start fer ter fall ag’in,
but de dinner-pot wuz dar fer ter ketch ’er when she fell. An’ dat wuz de
last dat anybody yever is see er de hard-headed ’oman. Leas’ ways, she
ain’t never come back ter de house whar de man wuz settin’ at.
“De pot? Well, de way dey got it in de tale is dat de pot des laugh
twel it hatter hol’ its sides fer ter keep fum crackin’ open. It come
a-hoppin’ an’ a-skippin’ up de spring paff. It hopped along, it did, twel
it come ter de house, an’ it made a runnin’ jump in de do’. Den it wash
its face, an’ scrape de mud off’n it foots, an’ wiped off de grease what
de ’oman been too lazy fer ter clean off. Den it went ter de fireplace,
an’ kinder spraddle out so it’ll fit de bricks what been put dar fer it
ter set on.
“De man watch all dis, but he ain’t say nothin’. Atter while he hear a
mighty bilin’ an’ bubblin’ an’ when he went ter look fer ter see what de
matter, he see his supper cookin’ an’ atter so long a time, he fish it
out an’ eat it. He eat in peace, an’ atter dat he allers had peace. An’
when you wanter be hard-headed, an’ have yo’ own way, you better b’ar in
min’ de ’oman an’ de dinner-pot.”
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Told by Uncle Remus, by Joel Chandler Harris