"BRER REMUS, is you heern tell er deze doin's out yer in de
udder eend er town?" asked a colored deacon of the church the
other day.
"W'at doin's is dat, Brer Ab?"
"Deze yer signs an' wunders whar dat cullud lady died day 'fo'
yistiddy. Mighty quare goin's on out dar, Brer Remus, sho's you
bawn."
"Sperrits?" inquired Uncle Remus, sententiously.
"Wuss'n dat, Brer Remus. Some say dat jedgment day ain't fur off,
an' de folks is flockin' 'roun' de house a hollerin' an' a-
shoutin' des like dey wuz in er revival. In de winder glass dar
you kin see de flags a flyin', an' Jacob's lather is dar, an'
dar's writin' on de pane w'at no man can't read--leas'wise dey
ain't none read it yit."
"W'at kinder racket is dis you er givin' un me now, Brer Ab?"
"I done bin dar, Brer Remus; I done seed um wid bofe my eyes.
Cullud lady what wuz intranced done woke up an' say dey ain't
much time fer ter tarry. She say she meet er angel in de road,
an' he p'inted straight fer de mornin' star, an' tell her fer ter
prepar'. Hit look mighty cu'us, Brer Remus."
"Cum down ter dat, Brer Ab," said Uncle Remus, wiping his
spectacles carefully, and readjusting them--"cum down ter dat,
an' dey ain't nuthin' dat ain't cu'us. I ain't no spishus nigger
myse'f, but I 'spizes fer ter year dogs a howlin' an' squinch-
owls havin' de agur out in de woods, an' w'en a bull goes a
bellerin' by de house den my bones git col' an' my flesh
commences fer ter creep; but w'en it comes ter deze yer sines in
de a'r an' deze yer sperrits in de woods, den I'm out--den I'm
done. I is, fer a fack. I bin livin' yer more'n seventy year, an'
I year talk er niggers seein' ghos'es all times er night an' all
times er day, but I ain't never seed none yit; an' deze yer flags
an' Jacob's lathers, I ain't seed dem, nudder."
"Dey er dar, Brer Remus."
"Hit's des like I tell you, Brer Ab. I ain't 'sputin' 'bout it,
but I ain't seed um, an' I don't take no chances deze days on dat
w'at I don't see, an' dat w'at I sees I got ter 'zamine mighty
close. Lemme tell you dis, Brer Ab: don't you let deze sines
onsettle you. W'en old man Gabrile toot his ho'n, he ain't
gwineter hang no sine out in de winder-panes, an when ole Fadder
Jacob lets down dat lather er his'n you'll be mighty ap' fer ter
hear de racket. An' don't you bodder wid jedgment-day. Jedgment-
day is lierbul fer ter take keer un itse'f."
"Dat's so, Brer Remus."
"Hit's bleedzed ter be so, Brer Ab. Hit don't bodder me. Hit's
done got so now dat w'en I gotter pone er bread, an' a rasher er
bacon, an' nuff grease fer ter make gravy, I ain't keerin' much
w'edder fokes sees ghos'es er no."