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borrer his slippers. W'en Sat'day evenin' come, dey wuz all dere.
Miss Meadows en de gals, dey wuz dere; en Brer Coon, en Brer Fox, en Brer Possum, en Brer Tarrypin, dey wuz dere.”
Where was the Rabbit ? ” the little boy asked.
“ Youk'n put yo’ 'pennunce in ole Brer Rabbit,” the old man replied, with a chuckle.
He wuz dere, but he shuffle up kinder late, kaze w'en Miss Meadows en de ballunce un um done gone down ter de place, Brer Rabbit, he crope 'roun' ter de ash-hopper, en fill Brer Coon slippers full er ashes, en den he tuck'n put um on en march off. He got dar atter w'ile, en soon's Miss Meadows en de gals seed ’im, dey up'n giggle, en make a great 'miration kaze Brer Rabbit got on slippers. Brer Fox, he so smart, he holler out, he did, en say he lay Brer Rabbit
got de groun'-eatch, but Brer Rabbit, he sorter shet one eye, he did, en say, sezee :
"I bin so useter ridin' hoss-back, ez deze ladies knows dat I'm gittin sorter tenderfooted ;' en dey don't hear much mo' fum Brer Fox dat day, kaze he 'member how Brer Rabbit done bin en rid him ; en hit 'uz des 'bout much ez Miss Meadows en de gals could do fer ter keep der snickers fum gittin' up a 'sturbance 'mong de congergashun. But, never mine dat, ole Brer Rabbit, he wuz dar, en he so brash dat leetle mo' en he'd er grab up de sludge-hammer en er open up de racket 'fo' ennybody gun de word; but Brer Fox, he shove Brer Rabbit out'n de way en pick up de sludge hisse'f. Now den,” continued the old man, with pretty much the air of one who had been the master of similar ceremonies, " de progrance wuz dish yer : Eve'y gent wer ter have th’ee licks at de rock, en de gent w'at fetch de dus' he wer de one w'at gwineter take de pick er de gals. Ole Brer Fox, he grab de sludge-hammer, he did, en he come down on de rock-blim! No dus' ain't come.
Den he draw back en down he come ag'in—blam! No dus' ain't come. Den he spit in his han's, en give 'er a big swing en down she come-ker-blap ! En yit no dus ain't flew’d. Den Brer Possum he make triul, en Brer Coon, en all de ballunce un um 'cep Brer Tarrypin, en he 'low dat he got a crick in his neck. Den Brer Rabbit, he grab holt er de sludge, en he lipt up in de a'r en come down on de rock all at de same time-pow!—en de ashes, dey flew'd up so, dey did, dat Brer Fox, he tuck'n had a sneezin' spell, en Miss Meadows en de gals dey up'n koff. Th'ee times Brer Rabbit jump up en crack his heels tergedder en come down wid de sludge-hammer-kerblam !—en eve'y time he jump up, he holler out :
Stan' fudder, ladies! Yer come de dus'!' en sho nuff, de dus' come.
“Leas’ways," continued Uncle Remus,“ Brer Rabbit got one er de gals, en dey had a weddin en a big infa'r."
“Which of the girls did the Rabbit marry ?” asked the little boy, dubiously.
“ I did year tell un 'er name,” replied the old man, with a great affectation of interest, “but look like I done gone en fergit it off'n my mine.
. Ef I don't disremember,” he continued, “hit wuz Miss Molly Cottontail, en I speck we better let it
go at dat."
A PLANTATION WITCII.
HE next time the little boy got permission
to call upon Uncle Remus, the old man was sitting in his door, with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands, and he appeared to be in great trouble.
What's the matter, Uncle Remus ? ” the youngster asked.
“Nuff de matter, honey-mo'dan dey's enny kyo fer. Ef dey ain't some quare gwines on 'roun' dis place I ain't name Remus.”
The serious tone of the old man caused the little boy to open his eyes. .
The moon, just at its full, cast long, vague, wavering shadows in front of the cabin. A colony of tree-frogs somewhere in the distance were treating their neighbours to a serenade, but to the little boy it sounded like a chorus of lost and long-forgotten whistlers. The sound was wherever the imagination chose to locate it-to the right, to the left, in the air, on the ground, far away or near at hand, but always dim and always indistinct. Something in Uncle Remus's tone exactly fitted all these surroundings, and the child nestled closer to the old man.
Yasser,” continued Uncle Remus, with an ominous sigh and a mysterious shake of the head, “ef dey ain't some quare gwines on in dish yer naberhood, den I'm de ball-headest creetur 'twix' dis en nex' Jinawerry wus a year 'go, w'ich I knows I ain't. Dat's what.”
“What is it, Uncle Remus?"
“I know Mars John bin drivin' Cholly sorter hard terday, en I say ter myse'f dat I'd drap 'roun' 'bout dus' en fling nudder year er corn in de troff en kinder gin 'im a techin' up wid de kurrier-koam ; en bless grashus! I ain't bin in de lot ino'n a minnit 'fo' I seed sump'n wuz wrong wid de hoss, and sho' nuff dar wuz his mane full er witch-stirrups.”
“ Full of what, Uncle Remus?"
“Full er witch-stirrups, honey. Ain't you seed no witch-stirrups ? Well, w'en you see two