Chapter IV: Part 4

“Brer Rabbit see how dey er doin’, but he ain’t pay no ’tention. He ’low, ‘Dat ol’ Craney-Crow look like he had travel fur an’ wide; he look like he know what all de fashions is, but when he got in de Swamp an’ see all de creeturs--dem what run an’ dem what fly--sleepin’ wid der heads off, he sho’ wuz tuck back; he say he ain’t never her er sech doin’s ez dat. You done seed how country folks do--well, des dat a-way he done. I been tryin’ hard fer ter git home, an’ tell my ol’ ’oman ’bout it, but eve’y time I gits a good start it pop up in my min’ ’bout how ol’ Craney-Crow done when he fin’ out what de fashion wuz in dis part er de country.’ An’ den Brer Rabbit sot inter laughin’, and Brer Fox an’ ol’ Miss Fox dey j’ined in wid ’im, kaze dey ain’t want nobody fer ter git de idee dat dey don’t know what de fashion is, speshually de fashion in de part er de country whar dey er livin’ at.

“Ol’ Miss Fox, she say dat ol’ Craney-Crow must be a funny sort er somebody not ter know what de fashions is, an’ Brer Fox he ’gree twel he grin an’ show his tushes. He say he ain’t keerin’ much ’bout fashions hisse’f, but he wouldn’t like fer ter be laughed at on de ’count er plain ignunce. Brer Rabbit, he say he ain’t makin’ no pertence er doin’ eve’ything dat’s done, kaze he ain’t dat finnicky, but when fashions is comfertubble an’ coolin’ he don’t min’ follerin’ um fer der own sake ez well ez his’n. He say now dat he done got in de habits er sleepin’ wid his head off, he wouldn’t no mo’ sleep wid it on dan he’d fly.

“Ol’ Miss Fox, she up ’n’ spon’, ‘I b’lieve you, Brer Rabbit--dat I does!’ Brer Rabbit, he make a bow, he did, an’ ’low, ‘I know mighty well dat I’m ol’-fashion’, an’ dey ain’t no ’nyin’ it, Miss Fox, but when de new gineration hit on ter sump’n dat’s cool an’ comfertubble, I ain’t de man ter laugh at it des kaze it’s tollerbul new. No, ma’am! I’ll try it, an’ ef it work all right I’ll foller it; ef it don’t, I won’t. De fus’ time I try ter sleep wid my head off I wuz kinder nervious, but I soon got over dat, an’ now ef it wuz ter go out fashion, I’d des keep right on wid it, I don’t keer what de yuthers ’d think. Dat’s me; dat’s me all over.’

“Bimeby, Brer Rabbit look at de sun, an’ des vow he bleeze ter git home. He wish ol’ Miss Fox mighty well, an’ made his bow, an’ put out down de road at a two-forty gait. Brer Fox look kinder sheepish when his ol’ ’oman look at ’im. He say dat de idee er sleepin’ wid yo’ head off is bran new ter him. Ol’ Miss Fox ’low dat dey’s a heap er things in dis worl’ what he dunno, an’ what he won’t never fin’ out. She say, ‘Here I is a-scrimpin’ an’ a-workin’ my eyeballs out fer ter be ez good ez de bes’, an’ dar you is a projickin’ roun’ an’ not a-keerin’ whedder yo’ fambly is in de fashion er not.’ Brer Fox ’low dat ef sleepin’ wid yo’ head off is one er de fashions, he fer one ain’t keerin’ ’bout tryin’. Ol’ Miss Fox say, ‘No, an’ you ain’t a-keerin’ what folks say ’bout yo’ wife an’ fambly. No wonder Brer Rabbit had ter laugh whiles he wuz tellin’ you ’bout Craney-Crow, kaze you stood dar wid yo’ mouf open like you ain’t got no sense. It’ll be a purty tale he’ll tell his fambly ’bout de tacky Fox fambly.’

“Wid dat Ol’ Miss Fox switch away fum de winder an’ went ter cleanin’ up de house, an’ bimeby Brer Fox went in de house hopin’ dat brekfus wuz ready; but dey wa’n’t no sign er nothin’ ter eat. Atter so long a time, Brer Fox ax when he wuz gwine ter git brekfus’. His ol’ ’oman ’low dat eatin’ brekfus’ an’ gittin’ it, too, wuz one er de fashions. Ef he ain’t follerin’ fashions, she ain’t needer. He ain’t say no mo’, but went off behin’ de house an’ had a mighty time er thinkin’ an’ scratchin’ fer fleas.

“When bedtime come, ol’ Miss Fox wuz mighty tired, an’ she ain’t a-keerin’ much ’bout fashions right den. Des ez she wuz fixin’ fer ter roll ’erse’f in de kivver, Brer Fox come in fum a hunt he’d been havin’. He fotch a weasel an’ a mink wid ’im, an’ he put um in de cubberd whar dey’d keep cool. Den he wash his face an’ han’s, an’ ’low dat he’s ready fer ter have his head tooken off fer de night, ef his ol’ ’oman’ll be so good ez ter he’p ’im.

“By dat time ol’ Miss Fox had done got over de pouts, but she ain’t got over de idee er follerin’ atter de fashions, an’ so she say she’ll be glad fer ter he’p ’im do what’s right, seein’ dat he’s so hard-headed in gin’ul. Den come de knotty part. Na’er one un um know’d what dey wuz ’bout, an’ dar dey sot an’ jowered ’bout de bes’ way fer ter git de head off. Brer Fox say dey ain’t but one way, less’n you twis’ de head off, an’ goodness knows he ain’t want nobody fer ter be twis’in’ his neck, kaze he ticklish anyhow. Dat one way wuz ter take de ax an’ cut de head off. Ol’ Miss Fox, she squall, she did, an’ hol’ up her han’s like she skeer’d.

“Brer Fox sot dar lookin’ up de chimbley. Bimeby his ol’ ’oman ’low, ‘De ax look mighty skeery, but one thing I know, an’ dat ain’t two, it ain’t gwineter hurt you ef it’s de fashion. Brer Fox kinder work his under jaw, but he ain’t sayin’ nothin’. So his ol’ ’oman went out ter de woodpile an’ got de ax, an’ den she say, ‘I’m ready, honey, whenever you is,’ an’ Brer Fox, he ’spon’, ‘I’m des ez ready now ez I ever is ter be,’ an’ wid dat she up wid de ax an’ _blip!_ she tuck ’im right on de neck. De head come right off wid little er no trouble, an’ ol’ Miss Fox laugh an’ say ter herse’f dat she glad dey follerin’ de fashion at las’.

“Brer Fox sorter kick an’ squirm when de head fus’ come off, but his ol’ ’oman ’low dat dat wuz de sign he wuz dreamin’, an’ atter he lay right still she say he wuz havin’ a better night’s res’ dan what he’d had in a mighty long time. An’ den she happen fer ter think dat whiles her ol’ man done gone an’ got in de fashion, dar she wuz ready fer ter go ter bed wid ’er head on. She dunner how ter git ’er head off, an’ she try ter wake up her ol’ man, but it look like he wuz one er dem stubborn kinder sleepers what won’t be woken’d atter dey once drap off. She shake ’im an’ holler at ’im, but ’tain’t do no good. She can’t make ’im stir, spite er all de racket she make, an’ she hatter go ter bed wid her head on.

“She went ter bed, she did, but she ain’t sleep good, kaze she had trouble in de min’. She’d wake up an’ turn over, an’ roll an’ toss, an’ wonder what de yuther creeturs’d say ef dey know’d she wuz so far outer de fashion ez ter sleep wid ’er head on. An’ she had bad dreams; she dremp dat Brer Rabbit wuz laughin’ at ’er, an’ she start fer ter run at ’im, an’ de fust news she know’d de dogs wuz on her trail an’ gwine in full cry. ’Twuz dat a-way all night long, an’ she wuz mo’ dan thankful when mornin’ come.

“She try ter wake up her ol’ man, but still he won’t be woke. He lay dar, he did, an’ won’t budge, an’ bimeby ol’ Miss Fox git mad an’ go off an’ leave ’im. Atter so long a time she went back ter whar he wuz layin’, an’ he wuz des like she lef’ ’im. She try ter roust ’im up, but he won’t be rousted. She holler so loud dat Brer Rabbit which he wuz gwine by, got de idee dat she wuz callin’ him, an’ he stick his head in de do’ an’ ’low, ‘Is you callin’ me, ma’am?’

“She say, ‘La! Brer Rabbit? I ain’t know you wuz anywheres aroun’. I been tryin’ fer ter wake up my ol’ man; he mo’ lazier dis mornin’ dan I ever is know ’im ter be. Ef my house wa’n’t all to’ up, I’d ax you in an’ git you ter drag ’im out an’ git ’im up.’

“Brer Rabbit say, ‘Ef dey ain’t nothin’ de matter wid Brer Fox he’ll git up in good time.’ Ol’ Miss Fox ’low, ‘La! I dunner what you call good time. Look at de sun--it’s ’way up yander, an’ dar he is sleepin’ like a log. ’Fo’ he went ter bed he made me take his head off, an’ he ain’t woke up sence.’ ‘An’ how did you git it off, mum?’ sez ol’ Brer Rabbit, sezee. ‘I tuck an’ tuck de ax an’ cut it off,’ se’she. Wid dat Brer Rabbit flung bofe han’s over his face, an’ mosied off like he wuz cryin’. Fum de way he look you’d ’a’ thunk his heart wuz broke; yit he wa’n’t cryin’.”

“Then what was he doing, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked.

“Des a-laughin’--laughin’ fit ter kill. When ol’ Miss Fox see ’im gwine long like he wuz cryin’, she spicion’d dat sump’n wuz wrong, an’ sho ’nuff ’twuz, kaze Brer Fox ain’t wake up no mo’. She ’low, ‘Ol’ honey look like he dead, but he better be dead dan outer de fashion!’

“I take notice, honey, dat you ain’t use yo’ hankcher yit. What de matter wid you? Is yo’ weeps all dry up?”

The child laughed and stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket.

IX

WHY THE TURKEY BUZZARD IS BALD-HEADED

“Mother,” said the little boy one day, “do you know why the turkey buzzards are bald?”

“Why, no,” replied the young mother, very much surprised. “I didn’t even know they were bald. But why do you ask such a silly question?”

“Because Uncle Remus said you knew why they are bald.”

“You tell Uncle Remus,” said the grandmother, laughing heartily, “that I say he is an old rascal, and he had better behave himself.”

The way of it was this: The little boy had been walking out in the fields with Uncle Remus, and had seen, away up in the sky, two or three turkey buzzards floating lazily along on motionless wings. From the fields they had gone into the woods, and in these woods they had found what Uncle Remus had said was a buzzard’s nest. It was in a hollow tree, flat on the ground, and when they came near, the mother buzzard issued forth from the hollow, with such a hissing and flapping of wings that the little boy was frightened for a moment.

“Go on ’way fum here, you bald-headed ol’ rapscallion; ef you don’t I’ll do you wuss dan Brer Rabbit done you. Honey,” he went on, turning to the child, “you better put yo’ hankcher ter yo’ nose ef you gwineter look in dat nes’, kaze ol’ Miss Turkey Buzzard is a scandalious housekeeper.”

The child did as he was bid, and, peeping in the nest, he saw two young ones, as white as goslings. While he was peeping in he got a whiff of the odor of the buzzards, and turned and ran away from the place as hard as he could. Uncle Remus followed suit, and hobbled away as fast as his legs could carry him. When they were both out of range of the buzzard’s nest, they stopped and laughed at each other.

“You nee’nter be skeer’d dat anything’ll ketch you, honey. Dey ain’t nothin’ but a race-hoss got yo’ gait. Why, ef I hadn’t ’a’ been wid you, you’d ’a’ been home by now, kaze you’d ’a’ started when ol’ Miss Buzzard fus flew out er dat hole.”

The little boy made no denial, for he knew that what Uncle Remus said had much more than a grain of truth in it. Besides, he was thinking of other things just then. He soon made known what it was. “Why did you call the buzzard bald-headed, Uncle Remus?”

“A mighty good reason,” responded the old man. “Dey ain’t no mo’ got fedders on de top er der head dan you got ha’r in de pa’m er yo’ han’. You ketch one un um, an’ ef you kin hol’ yo’ breff long nuff ter look, you’ll see dat I’m tellin’ you de trufe. I ain’t blamin’ um fer dat, kaze dey got a mighty good reason fer bein’ bal’-headed. Dey’s mighty few folks dat know what de reason is, an’ one un um is yo’ ma. Ef you’ll kinder coax ’er, I speck she’ll tell you.”

This was what led up to the question the child had asked his mother, and was the occasion of the grandmother’s laughing remark that Uncle Remus was an old rascal.

The little boy gave Uncle Remus the full particulars the next time he saw him. The old man laughed merrily when he heard that his Miss Sally had called him an old rascal. “Talk ’bout yo’ smart wimmen folks!” he exclaimed. “Dey ain’t na’er man in de worl’ what kin hol’ a candle ter yo’ gran’ma; an’ des ez you see ’er now, dat des de way she been sence she wuz a gal. She know what you gwineter say long ’fo’ you kin git de words out ’n yo’ mouf; she kin look right thoo you an’ tell you what you thinkin’ ’bout. You may laugh all you wanter, but ef youer feelin’ bad she’ll know it. When Miss Sally goes an’ dies, dey won’t be na’er nudder somebody fer ter take her place. Dey ain’t no two ways ’bout dat.”

“I think she is getting used to mother,” the little boy remarked in his old-fashioned way--a way that was a source of constant amazement to Uncle Remus, who could hardly understand how a child could act and talk like a grown person. He regarded the child with a puzzled look, and closed his eyes with a sigh. The child had no idea that Uncle Remus was either puzzled or amazed, and so he harked back to the original problem. “Why is the buzzard bald-headed?” he asked.

“Ef yo’ ma an’ yo’ gran’ma dunno,” replied Uncle Remus, “I speck I’ll hatter tell you, an’ de bes’ way ter do dat is ter tell de tale dat de ol’ folks tol’ der chillun. What make it mo’ easy, is dat dey ain’t nothin’ er Brer Turkey Buzzard in it but his name. Ef he wuz in it hisse’f, I don’t speck you’d stay long nuff fer ter hear me tell it.” The child laughed, for he remembered how he wanted to run away from the tree when old Mrs. Buzzard came flopping out. He laughed, but said nothing, and Uncle Remus resumed:

“Dey wuz a time when Brer Rabbit live in one side uv a holler tree. One day whiles he wuz gwine pirootin’ roun’, ol’ Miss Turkey Buzzard come knockin’ at de do’, an’ when she don’t hear nothin’ she stuck ’er head in an’ look roun’. Ter see ’er den an’ see ’er now you wouldn’t know she wuz de same creetur. She had a fine top-knot on ’er head, bigger dan de one on de freezlin’ hen, which de win’ done blow all her fedders de wrong way. Yasser, she had a fine top-knot, an’ she ’uz purty good-lookin’.

“Well, suh, she peeped in, she did, an’ den she seed dat dey wa’n’t nobody in dar, needer Grandaddy Owl, ner Brer Polecat, ner Brer Rattlesnake. She take an’er look, an’ den in she walked, an’ made ’erself mighty much at home. It ain’t take ol’ Miss Buzzard long fer ter fix her nes’, kaze she ain’t want nothin’ but five sticks an’ a han’ful er leaves. She went out an’ fotch um in an’ dar she wuz. She went right straight ter housekeepin’, kaze she ain’t had ter put down no kyarpits, ner straighten out no rugs, ner move de cheers roun’, ner wash no dishes.

“Well, long todes night, er maybe a little later, Brer Rabbit come home, an’ like he mos’ allers done, he come a-laughin’. He been projickin’ wid some er de yuther creeturs, an he wuz mighty pleased wid hisse’f. When he fus’ come he ain’t take no notice er ol’ Miss Buzzard. He come in a-laughin’, an’ he laugh twel he don’t wanter laugh no mo’. But bimeby he ’gun ter take notice dat ever’thing wa’n’t des like it use ter be. He ’low, ‘Somebody done been here while I’m gone, an’ whoever ’twuz, is got a mighty bad breff.’ He keep still, kaze ’twuz mighty dark in de holler, but he keep on wigglin’ his nose an’ tryin’ ter sneeze. Bimeby, he say, ‘I dunner who ’twuz; all I know, is dat he better go see de doctor.’

“Dis ’uz too much fer ol’ Miss Buzzard, an’ she say, ‘I thank you kin’ly, Brer Rabbit! Youer in de way er makin’ frien’s wharsomever you go!’ Brer Rabbit, he jump mos’ out ’n his skin, he wuz so skeer’d. He cotch his breff an’ sneeze, an’ den he ’low, ‘Heyo, Sis Buzzard! is dat you? I thought you stayed in de trees. What win’ blow you here, an’ how is ol’ Brer Buzzard?’ She say, ‘Oh, he’s doin’ ez well ez you kin speck a man ter do; he’s ’way fum home when he oughter be dar, an’ when he’s dar, he’s in de way. Men folks is monstus tryin’, Brer Rabbit; you know dat yo’se’f.’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘I ain’t ’sputin’ what you say, but when wimmen gits out er sorts, an’ has de all-overs, ez you may say, de men folks has ter b’ar de brunt er der ailments. You kin put dat down fer a fack.’

“Dey went on dat a-way, ’sputin’ ’bout de seck twel ol’ Miss Buzzard ’gun ter git sleepy. She say, ‘Brer Rabbit, ef you took mo’ time for sleep, you’d be lots better off.’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘Maybe so--maybe so, Sis Buzzard, but I can’t help my habits. I’m a light sleeper, but I wuz born so, an’ if you so much ez move endurin’ er de night I’ll have one eye open.’ Ol’ Miss Buzzard say, ‘Ef dat’s de case, Brer Rabbit, I’ll thank you fer ter wake me ef you hear a snake crawlin’. Dey ain’t many things I’m afeard un, an’ one uv um is a snake.’ Brer Rabbit laugh hearty, an’ low, ‘Ef snakes wuz all dat trouble me, Sis Buzzard, I’d be mo’ dan happy. Many an’ many’s de time when I uv woke up an’ foun’ um quiled up in my britches laig.’ Miss Buzzard, she sorter flutter her wings, an’ say, ‘Oh, hush, Brer Rabbit! you gi’ me de creeps; you sho do.’

“Dat ’uz de fust night,” said Uncle Remus, flinging away a quid of tobacco and taking a fresh one. “By de nex’ day ol’ Miss Buzzard had done took up her ’bode an’ lodgin’ whar Brer Rabbit wuz livin’ at. He ain’t say nothin’, kaze he des waitin’ de time when he kin play some kinder prank on her an’ her fambly. All dat he need fer ter brace ’im up wuz ter have a mighty strong stomach, an’ he thank de Lord dat he got dat. Time went on, an’ ez any kinder soun’ egg will hatch ef you gi’ it time, so ol’ Miss Buzzard egg hatch, an’ mos’ ’fo’ you know it, ef you ain’t hatter live dar like Brer Rabbit, she hatch out her eggs an’ have a pair er mighty likely chillun, ef you kin call Buzzards likely.

“Ol’ Miss Buzzard wuz monstus proud er deze young uns, an’ de time come when she wuz hard put ter git um vittles. She’d fly off an’ dey’d holler fer sump’n ter eat when dey hear ’er come back, an’ it got so atter while dat dey’d hatter go hongry, dey wuz so ravenous. An’ den she ’gun ter look sideways at Brer Rabbit. He knew mighty well what she thinkin’ ’bout, but he ain’t say nothin’. He’d come an’ go des like ol’ Miss Buzzard want in de back part er her head, but all de time, he know’d what she plannin’ ter do, an’ he ack accordin’. He ’low ter ol’ Miss Buzzard dat he know she wanter be kinder private when she raisin’ a fambly, an’ ez dey wuz two hollers in de tree, he say he gwinter make his home in de yuther one. Miss Buzzard, she say, she did, dat Brer Rabbit wuz mighty good fer ter be thinkin’ ’bout yuther people, but Brer Rabbit make a bow an’ say he been raise dat a-way.

“But ’fo’ Brer Rabbit went in de yuther holler he made sho dat dey wuz mo’ dan one way er gittin’ out. He went in dar, he did, an’ scratch about an’ make a new bed, an’ den he git in it fer ter git it warm. He set dar wid one eye open an’ t’er one shot. He sot so still dat ol’ Miss Buzzard got de idee dat he gone abroad, an’ so when her chillun cry fer dey dinner, she say, ‘Don’t cry, honey babies; mammy gwine ter git you a good warm dinner ’fo’ long, an’ it’ll be fresh meat, too, you kin ’pen’ on dat.’ De chillun, dey cry wuss at dis, kaze dey so hongry dey don’t wanter wait a minnit. Dey say, ‘Git it now, mammy! git it now!’ Ol’ Brer Rabbit wuz settin’ in dar lis’nin’, an’ he ’low ter hisse’f, ‘It’ll tas’e mighty good when you does git it, honey babies!’ Wid dat, he skip out fum dar, an’ went off ter his laughin’-place.”

“Atter so long a time, ol’ Miss Buzzard went ’roun’ ter de yuther holler, an’ peep in. Ef Brer Rabbit had ’a’ been in dar, she wuz gwineter ax ’im how he like his new house, but he wa’n’t dar, an’ she hove a long breff, kaze when you gwineter do mischief, it seem like eve’ybody know what you gwineter do. Anyhow, she ’uz mighty glad dat Brer Rabbit wa’n’t dar fer ter look at ’er wid his pop-eyes. Den she tell her chillun dat she gwine off atter some vittles, an’ she flop ’er wings a time er two, an’ off she flew’d.

“Dey got ’long tollable well dat day an’ de nex’ but ’twant long ’fo’ der craw ’gun ter feel like a win’-bag, an’ den dey set up a cry fer mo’ vittles, an’ der mammy ain’t got no vittles fer ter gi’ um. Brer Rabbit went abroad mighty soon dat day, an’ atter he had his fill er fun an’ turnip greens he come home an’ went ter bed. He went ter bed, he did, an’ went ter sleep, but he ain’t sleep long, kaze he hear some kinder noise. He wake up, an’ open an’ shet his pop-eyes kinder slow, an’ wiggle his mouf an’ nose. He kin hear ol’ Miss Buzzard trompin’ roun’ at his front door, kinder hummin’ a chune ter herself. He say, ‘Heyo, dar! who dat projickin’ at my front do’?’ Ol’ Miss Buzzard, she say, ‘Take yo’ res’, Brer Rabbit; ’tain’t nobody but me. I got de idee dat some un wuz pirootin’ roun’ de place, an’ I des got up fer ter see dat everything wuz all right.’

“Brer Rabbit say, ‘It’s mighty dark in here,’ an’ ‘A mighty good reason,’ sez ol’ Miss Buzzard, se’she, ‘kaze it’s black night out here,’ se’she; ‘you can’t see yo’ han’ befo’ you,’ se’she. Dis make Brer Rabbit laugh, kaze de mornin’ sun wuz shinin’ thoo a knot-hole right in Brer Rabbit’s face. He laugh an’ ’low ter hisse’f, ‘Shoot yo’ shekels, ol’ ’oman, an’ shoot um hard, kaze youer gwineter git de rough een’ er dis business. You hear my horn!’ He hear ol’ Miss Buzzard walkin’ roun’ out dar, an’ he holler out, ‘I can’t git out! I b’lieve it’s daytime out dar, an’ I can’t git out! Somebody better run here an’ he’p me ter git out. Some un done lock me in my own house, an’ I can’t git out! Ain’t somebody gwineter run here an’ turn me out! I can’t git a breff er fresh a’r.’

“Well, ol’ Miss Buzzard ain’t got no mo’ sense dan ter b’lieve Brer Rabbit, an’ she wuz des certain an’ sho dat he wuz her meat. She say, ‘I’m de one what shet you up in dar, an’ I’m gwine ter keep you in dar twel youer done dead, an’ den I’ll pull de meat off’n yo’ bones, bofe fat an’ lean, an’ feed my chillun. I done got you shot up wid red clay an’ white, an’ I’m gwineter keep you in dar bofe day an’ night, twel you ain’t got no breff in you.’ Wid dat she went in her own house an’ sot down wid ’er chillun fer ter wait an’ see what gwineter happen. Brer Rabbit he stay still fer de longes’, kaze he one er de mos’ fidgetty creeturs you yever is lay yo’ eyes on. He stay right still, he did, twel ol’ Miss Turkey Buzzard git tired er waitin’ an’ come out fer ter promenade up an’ down ’fo’ Brer Rabbit front do’.

“He hear de ol’ huzzy, an’ he say, ‘I know you des jokin’ wid me, Sis Buzzard; please, ma’am, le’ me out. My breff gittin’ shorter, an’ dish yer an’ what in here smell mos’ ez bad ez what yo’ breff do. Please, ma’am, make ’as’e an’ let me out.’ Den she got mad. ‘My breff, I hear you say! Well, ’fo’ I git thoo wid you, you won’t have no breff--I prommus you dat.’ Atter ol’ Miss Buzzard went back in her part er de house, Brer Rabbit tuck a notion dat he’d git out er dar, an’ pay ’er back fer de ol’ an’ de new. An’ out er his back door he went. He ain’t take time fer ter go ter de laughin’-place--no, suh! not him. Stidder dat he put off ter whar he know’d Mr. Man had been cle’rin’ up a new groun’. Dey wuz a tin bucket what Mr. Man had done off an’ forgot, an’ Brer Rabbit tuck dat an’ fill it full er red-hot embers, an’ went sailin’ back home wid it.

“When he git dar, he stuck his head in Miss Buzzard do’, an’ low, ‘Peep-eye, Sis Buzzard! I hope you done had yo’ dinner ter day, an’ ef you ain’t I got it right here fer you an’ you mo’ dan welcome ter all dat’s in it.’ He ain’t mo’ dan got de words out ’n his mouf, ’fo’ ol’ Miss Buzzard flew’d out at ’im des like she flew’d out at you, de yuther day. She flew’d out, she did, but she ain’t flew’d fur ’fo’ she got de hot ashes over her head an’ neck, an’ de way she hopp’d ’roun’ wuz so scandalious dat folks calls dat kinder doin’s de buzzard-dance down ter dis day an’ time.

“Some er de ashes got on de little buzzards, an fum dat time on none er de buzzard tribe is had any ha’r er fedders on der head, an’ not much on der neck. An’ ef you look at um right close, you’ll fin’ dat I’m ’a’ tellin’ you de plain trufe. Dey look so ba’r on der head an’ neck dat you wanter gi’ um a piece er rag fer to tie roun’ it ter keep um fum ketchin’ col’.”

X

BROTHER DEER AN’ KING SUN’S DAUGHTER

It is only fair to say that the little boy came to the plantation somewhat prejudiced. His mother, had never known the advantages of association with the old-time negroes, and was a great stickler for accuracy of speech. She was very precise in the use of English and could not abide the simple dialect in which the stories had been related to the little boy’s father. She was so insistent in this matter that the child’s father, when asked for a story such as Uncle Remus had told him, thought it best to avoid the dialect that he knew so well. In consequence, the essence of the stories was dissipated for the child, and he lacked the enthusiasm which Uncle Remus had hoped to find.

But this enthusiasm came by degrees as Uncle Remus wandered from one tale to another. The child never told his mother how he enjoyed the stories, and yet he came to play the part that had been played by his father long before he was born, and matters came to such a pass, that, if he was long with Uncle Remus without hearing a story, he straightway imagined that the old man was angry or out of sorts. The lad was gaining in health and strength every day he remained on the plantation, and in consideration of this fact--and as the result of wise diplomacy of Uncle Remus--the child’s mother relaxed the discipline that she had thought necessary for his welfare, so that not many weeks elapsed before his cheeks became ruddy with health. Uncle Remus hailed him as a town rowdy, and declared that the plantation would soon be too small to hold him.

“I pity yo’ gran’ma,” said Uncle Remus, “kaze ef you stay roun’ here, she’ll hatter buy all de ’j’inin’ plantations ef she gwineter keep you on her lan’.”

There was no more corn to be hauled, but there was harness to be mended, and the little boy, sitting on a high stool in the workshop, or leaning against Uncle Remus, watched the operation with great interest. He observed one day that the old man was frowning darkly. His forehead was puckered into knots and seamed with wrinkles that did not belong there, and his eyebrows were drawn together over his nose.

“What is the matter with you, Uncle Remus? Are you angry, or are you going to cry?”

“I’ll tell you de trufe, honey. I’m mighty nigh on de p’int er cryin’. You see my face puckered up, don’t you? Well, ef you had ez much on yo’ min’ ez what I got on mine, you’d be boo-hooin’ same ez a baby. I tell you dat. An’ des ter show you dat I’m in deep trouble, I’ll ax you ter tell me how many times dey is.”

“How many times? How many times what?” the child inquired.

Uncle Remus regarded him sorrowfully, and then returned to his work with a heavy sigh. “Did I ax you ’bout what? No, I ain’t; I ax’d you ’bout times. I say ez plain ez writin’: ‘How many times is dey?’ an’ you ’spon’, ‘How many times what?’ It look mighty funny ter me. Dar’s daytime an’ night-time, bedtime an’ meal-time, an’ some time an’ no time, an’ high time an’ fly time, an’ long time an’ wrong time, ’simmon time an’ plum time. Dey ain’t no use er talkin’; it’s nuff fer ter make yo’ head swim. I been tryin’ fer ter count um up, but de mo’ I count um up de mo’ dey is.”

The little boy looked at the old man with a half-smile on his face. He was plainly puzzled, but he didn’t like to admit it even to himself. “Why do you want to know how many times there are?” he asked.

“Kaze I wanter live an’ l’arn,” replied Uncle Remus. “Le’ me see,” he went on, puckering his face again. “Dars de ol’ time an’ de new time, de col’ time an’ de due time--bless yo’ soul, honey, I can’t count um up. No, suh; you’ll hatter skusen me!”

He paused and looked at the little boy to see what the child could make out of all he had said.

He saw nothing in the small countenance but curiosity. “What made you think of it?” was the question the child asked.

“Mos’ eve’ything I see make me think ’bout it, an’ you’ll think ’bout it you’se’f, when you come ter be ol’ ez what I is. But de reason it wuz runnin’ in my head dis time wuz kaze I start ter tell a tale widout knowin’ when de time wuz. I know it wuz ’way back yander, but de mont’ er de year I can’t tell, an’ when I try ter fix on de time eve’ything look dim an’ smoky, an’ I say ter myse’f dat dey mus’ be a fog in my mind.”

“Can’t you tell the story unless you can find out about the time?” inquired the little boy.

“Tooby sho’ I kin, honey; but you’d b’lieve it lots quicker ef you know’d what time it happen. ’Fo’ yo’ great-gran’ma died she had a trunk full er ollymenacks, an’ I boun’ you ef I had ’em here whar you could look at um, we wouldn’t have no trouble. I speck dey done got strow’d about endurin’ er de war time.

“Well, anyhow, once ’pon a time, when dey wuz mighty few folks in de worl’, ef any, Brer Deer fell in love wid ol’ King Sun’s daughter.” Having made this preliminary statement, Uncle Remus paused to see what effect it had on the child. Amazement and incredulity were written on the little boy’s face, observing which the old man smiled. “You nee’nter git de idee in yo’ head dat ol’ King Sun is like he wuz in dem days. No, bless you! He wuz des ez diffunt ez dem times wuz fum deze times, an’ when you git ter readin’ in de books you’ll fin’ out what de diffunce wuz. He wuz closer by, an’ he ain’t hide out at night like he does now. He wuz up in de sky, but he ain’t live ez high up; he wuz mo’ neighborly, ez you may say.

“He live so close by dat he useter sen’ de house-gal down ter de spring fer drinkin’-water. Three times a day she’d come ter fetch it; she’d clime down wid de bucket in her han’ an’ she’d clime back wid de bucket on her head, an’ she’d sing bofe ways, comin’ an’ gwine. In dem times dey all know’d dat ol’ King Sun had a daughter, but dey ain’t know what ’er name is; an’ dey know she wuz purty. Well, Brer Deer he hear talk un ’er, an’ he tuck a notion dat he gwineter marry ’er, but he dunner how he gwineter git up dar whar she live at. He study an’ study, but he can’t fin’ no way.

“He was settin’ down by de road studyin’ out a plan fer ter git word ter de gal, when ol’ Brer Rabbit come lopin’ down de lane. He mus’ a been playin’ hoss, kaze when he see Brer Deer, he shied an’ sneezed, he did, an’ make like he gwineter run away. But he ain’t run. He pass de time er day wid Brer Deer an’ ax ’im how his copperosity seem to segashuate. Brer Deer ’low dat his copperosity is segashuatin’ all right, but he got trouble in his min’ an’ he can’t git it out. He looked mighty sollumcolly when he say dis, an’ Brer Rabbit say he sorry.

“He sot down, Brer Rabbit did, an’ cross his legs, an’ rub his chin same like de doctor do when he gwineter slap a dose er bitter truck on yo’ insides. He rub his chin, he did, an’ look like he know all dey is fer ter be know’d. He say, ‘Brer Deer, when I wuz growin’ up I useter hear de ol’ folks say dat a light heart made a long life, an’ I b’lieve um. I sho’ does. Dey know’d what dey wuz talkin’ ’bout, kaze I done had de speunce un it.

“Brer Deer shuck his head an’ grieve. Ef he’d ’a’ had a hankcher, he ’a’ had need un it right den an’ dar, but he wink his eye fas’ fer ter git de tears out ’n um. He ’low, ‘I speck youer tellin’ me de trufe, Brer Rabbit, but I can’t he’p it ef you is. I am what I am, an’ I can’t be no ammer. I feels mo’ like cryin’ dan I does like eatin’, an’ I’m dat fractious dat I can’t skacely see straight. Ol’ Mr. Ram tol’ me howdy a while ago, an’ I ain’t done a thing but run at ’im an butt him slonchways. You nee’nter tell me dat I ain’t got no business fer ter do dat a-way; I des can’t he’p it.’

“Brer Rabbit kinder edge hisse’f away fum Brer Deer. He say, ‘Dat bein’ de case, Brer Deer, I speck I better gi’ you mo’ room. When I lef’ home dis mornin’ my ol’ ’oman ’low: “You better take keer er yo’se’f, honey,” an’ I’m gwineter do dat identual thing. I dunno dat I’m skeered er gittin’ hurted, but I’m monstus ticklish when de horned creeturs is roun’.’ Brer Deer say: ‘You nee’nter be fear’d er me, Brer Rabbit. I been knowin’ you a long time, an’ many’s de night dat we bofe graze in de same pastur’, you a-nibblin’ on de green grass an’ me a-crappin’ it. I’m monstus glad I run ’cross you, kaze ef I can’t tell my troubles ter some un, I b’lieve in my soul I’ll bust wide open.’

“Wid dat Brer Deer went on fer ter tell Brer Rabbit dat he done fell dead in love wid ol’ King Sun’s daughter. He dunner how come it ter be so, but anyhow so it is. He ain’t had no talk wid ’er; he ain’t mo’ dan cotch a glimp’ er de gal, yet dar he wuz dead in love wid ’er. Brer Rabbit mought laugh at ’im ef he wanter; he’ll des set dar an’ take it. He talk an’ talk, he did, twel Brer Rabbit got right sorry fer ’im. He sot dar, he did, an’ study, an’ he tell Brer Deer dat he’ll he’p ’im ef he kin, an’ he mos’ know he kin.

“Brer Deer raise his head, an’ open his eyes. He say, ‘Brer Rabbit, you ’stonish me--you sho’ does. Ef you’ll he’p me out in dis, I’ll stan’ by you thoo thick an’ thin.’ But Brer Rabbit say he ain’t doin’ it fer no pay; he done lay by his crap, an’ he ain’t got nothin’ much ter do, an’ he say he’ll he’p Brer Deer des fer ter keep his han’ in. Brer Deer look like he wuz might’ly holp up. Fust he smole a smile, an’ den he broke out in a laugh. He say, ‘Youer de man fer my money!’

“Brer Rabbit kinder wiggle his nose. He say, ‘Ef you keep yo’ money twel you think you got too much, you’ll have it by you fer many a long year ter come.’ Wid dat, he got up an’ bresh de dus’ off’n his britches, an’ shuck han’s wid Brer Deer. He say, ‘I hope fer ter have some good news fer you de nex’ time we meet in de big road.’ He bowed, he did, an’ den off he put, lippity-clip. He look back fer ter see ef Brer Deer wuz follerin’ ’im, but Brer Deer had sense ’nuff fer ter hunt ’im a cool place in de woods, whar he kin take de fust nap what he had in many a night an’ day.

“Brer Rabbit lope off todes de spring, kaze he know’d dat de spring wuz de place whar King Sun’s house-gal come atter water--an’ she hatter tote a mighty heap un it. It look like de mo’ water what King Sun drunk de mo’ he want, an’ dat bein’ de case, de gal had ’bout ez much totin’ ez she kin do. Brer Rabbit went down ter de spring, but dey wa’n’t nobody dar, an’ he look in it an’ see hisse’f in de water. Dar he wuz, his ha’r all comb, his face clean, an’ he look slicker dan sin. He laugh, he did, an’ say ter de Rabbit what he see in de water, ‘You sho’ is mighty good-lookin’, whoever you is, an’ ef you blame anybody, don’t blame me, kaze I can’t he’p it.’

“Now, down at de bottom er de spring wuz ol’ man Spring Lizzard. He wuz takin’ his mornin’ nap, when we hear some un talkin’. He raise up, he did, an’ lissen; den he look an’ see Brer Rabbit lookin’ at hisse’f in de water, an’ he holler out, ‘Maybe you ain’t ez good-lookin’ ez you think you is.’ Brer Rabbit holler back, ‘Hello, dar! dis is de fus time I know’d dat yo’ shadder in de water kin talk back at you.’

“Wid dat, Mr. Spring Lizzard come fum under de green moss, an’ float ter de top er de water. He pass de time er day wid Brer Rabbit, an’ ax ’im whar he gwine, an’ what he gwine ter do when he git dar. Brer Rabbit ’low dat he tryin’ fer ter do a good turn ter a frien’ what’s in trouble an’ den he went on an’ tol’ de ol’ Spring Lizzard ’bout Brer Deer an’ King Sun’s daughter. De Spring Lizzard say she’s a mighty likely gal, kaze he seed her one time when she slip off an’ come wid de house-gal atter water. He say she got long ha’r dat look like spun silk, an’ eyes dat shine like de mornin’ star.

“Brer Rabbit say he don’t ’spute it, but what he wanter know is how he kin git word ter King Sun ’bout Brer Deer. De Spring Lizzard say dat’s easy. He say dat when de house-gal come atter water, she hatter let down de step-ladder, an’ Brer Rabbit kin slip by ’er an’ go up, er he hisse’f kin git in de bucket an’ go up. Brer Rabbit say he kinder jub’us ’bout gwine, kaze he’s a kinder home body, an’ den de Spring Lizzard ’low dat ef Brer Deer will write a note, he’ll take it.

“Well, Brer Deer can’t write an’ Brer Rabbit kin; so dey fix it up ’twix’ um, an’ ’twant long ’fo’ dey had de note writ, an’ Brer Rabbit tuck it an’ gi’ it ter de Spring Lizzard. He say, ‘Don’t let it git wet, whatever you does,’ and de Spring Lizzard ax how it gwineter git wet when he put it in his pocket? He say dat eve’ybody but him, de fishes an’ de frogs got a wrong idee ’bout water, kaze ’tain’t wet ez it mought be, ’ceppin’ on a rainy day.

“Time went on des like it do now; night swung by an’ day swung in, an’ 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.”