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"Spozen he runs up on us, Brer Possum, w'at you gwineter do ?' sez Brer Coon, sezee. Brer Possum sorter laff 'round de cornders un his mouf.

“Oh, ef he come, Brer Coon, I'm gwineter stan' by you,' sez Brer Possum. 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 munnypus, kaze Brer Coon wuz cut out fer dat kinder bizness, en he fa’rly wipe up

de face er de earf wid 'im. You better b'leeve dat w'en Mr. Dog got a chance to make hisse'f skase he tuck it, en wat der wuz left un 'im 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 sotter 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 meet 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 wat lies down on de groun' en plays dead w'en dar's a free fight gwine on,' sezee.

Den Brer Possum grin en laff 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 “Dat's a mighty likely tale, sezee, 'w'en Mr. Dog ain't mo'n tech 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 ter laffin, en I laft twel I ain't had no use er' my lim's,'. sezee, 'en it's a mussy unto Mr. Dog dat

his nose.

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got 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 boun' ter s'render w'en

tech him in de short ribs, en he'll laff ef he knows he's gwineter be smashed fer it.”

you tech



MR. Fox.


NCLE REMUS,” said the little boy

one evening, when he had found the old man with little or nothing to do, “did the fox kill and eat the rabbit when he caught him with the Tar-Baby?”

Law, honey, ain't I tell you 'bout dat ? ” replied the old darkey, chuckling slyly. “I ’clar ter grashus I ought er tole you dat, but ole man Nod wuz ridin' on my eyeleds twel a leetle mo'n I'd a dis'member'd my own name, en den on to dat here come yo' mammy hollerin' atter you.

“ W'at I tell you w'en I fus' begin? I tole you

Brer Rabbit wuz a monstus soon beas' ; leas’ways dat's w'at I laid out fer ter tell you. Well, den, honey, don't you go en make no

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