"ONE night," said Uncle Remus--taking Miss Sally's little boy on
his knee, and stroking the child's hair thoughtfully and
caressingly--"one night Brer Possum call by fer Brer Coon,
'cordin' ter 'greement, en atter gobblin' up a dish er fried
greens en smokin' a seegyar, dey rambled fort' fer ter see how de
ballance er de settlement wuz gittin' long. Brer Coon, he wuz one
er deze yer natchul pacers, en he racked 'long same ez Mars
John's bay pony, en Brer Possum he went in a han'-gallup; en dey
got over heap er groun, mon. Brer Possum, he got his belly full
er 'simmons, en Brer Coon, he scoop up a 'bunnunce er frogs en
tadpoles. Dey amble long, dey did, des ez sociable ez a basket er
kittens, twel bimeby dey hear Mr. Dog talkin' ter hisse'f way off
in de woods.
"'Spozen he runs up on us, Brer Possum, w'at you gwineter do?'
sez Brer Coon, sezee. Brer Possum sorter laugh 'round de cornders
un his mouf.
"'Oh, ef he come, Brer Coon, I'm gwineter stan' by you,' sez Brer
Possum. 'W'at you gwineter do?' sezee.
"'Who? me?' sez Brer Coon. 'Ef he run up onter me, I lay I give
'im one twis',' sezee."
"Did the dog come?" asked the little boy.
"Go 'way, honey!" responded the old man, in an impressive tone.
"Go way! Mr. Dog, he come en he come a zoonin'. En he ain't wait
fer ter say howdy, nudder. He des sail inter de two un um. De
ve'y fus pas he make Brer Possum fetch a grin fum year ter year,
en keel over like he wuz dead. Den Mr. Dog, he sail inter Brer
Coon, en right dar's whar he drap his money purse, kaze Brer Coon
wuz cut out fer dat kinder bizness, en he fa'rly wipe up de face
er de yeth wid 'im. You better b'leeve dat w'en Mr. Dog got a
chance to make hisse'f skase he tuck it, en w'at der wuz lef' un
him went skaddlin' thoo de woods like hit wuz shot outen a
muskit. En Brer Coon, he sorter lick his cloze inter shape en
rack off, en Brer Possum, he lay dar like he wuz dead, twel
bimeby he raise up sorter keerful like, en w'en he fine de coas'
cle'r he scramble up en scamper off like sumpin' was atter 'im."
Here Uncle Remus paused long enough to pick up a live coal of
fire in his fingers, transfer it to the palm of his hand, and
thence to his clay pipe, which he had been filling--a proceeding
that was viewed by the little boy with undisguised admiration.
The old man then proceeded:
"Nex' time Brer Possum met Brer Coon, Brer Coon 'fuse ter 'spon'
ter his howdy, en dis make Brer Possum feel mighty bad, seein' ez
how dey useter make so many 'scurshuns tergedder.
"'W'at make you hol' yo' head so high, Brer Coon?' sez Brer
Possum, sezee.
"'I ain't runnin' wid cowerds deze days,' sez Brer Coon. 'W'en I
wants you I'll sen' fer you,' sezee.
"Den Brer Possum git mighty mad.
"'Who's enny cowerd?' sezee.
"'You is,' sez Brer Coon, 'dat's who. I ain't soshatin' wid dem
w'at lays down on de groun' en plays dead w'en dar's a free fight
gwine on,' sezee.
"Den Brer Possum grin en laugh fit to kill hisse'f. "'Lor', Brer
Coon, you don't speck I done dat kaze I wuz 'feared, duz you?'
sezee. 'W'y I want no mo 'feared dan you is dis minnit. W'at wuz
dey fer ter be skeered un?' sezee. 'I know'd you'd git away wid
Mr. Dog ef I didn't, en I des lay dar watchin' you shake him,
waitin' fer ter put in w'en de time come,' sezee.
"Brer Coon tu'n up his nose.
"'Dat's a mighty likely tale,' sezee, 'w'en Mr. Dog ain't mo'n
tech you 'fo' you keel over, en lay dar stiff,' sezee.
"'Dat's des w'at I wuz gwineter tell you 'bout; sez Brer Possum,
sezee. 'I want no mo' skeer'd dan you is right now, en' I wuz
fixin' fer ter give Mr. Dog a sample er my jaw,' sezee, 'but I'm
de most ticklish chap w'at you ever laid eyes on, en no sooner
did Mr. Dog put his nose down yer 'mong my ribs dan I got ter
laughin', en I laughed twel I ain't had no use er my lim's,'
sezee, 'en it's a mussy unto Mr. Dog dat I wuz ticklish, kaze a
little mo' en I'd e't 'im up,' sezee. 'I don't mine fightin',
Brer Coon, no mo' dan you duz,' sezee, 'but I declar' ter grashus
ef I kin stan' ticklin'. Git me in a row whar dey ain't no
ticklin' 'lowed, en I'm your man, sezee.
"En down ter dis day"--continued Uncle Remus, watching the
smoke from his pipe curl upward over the little boy's head--"down
ter dis day, Brer Possum's bound ter s'render w'en you tech him
in de short ribs, en he'll laugh ef he knows he's gwineter be
smashed fer it."