Chapter III (1)

Lucien and Lillian, cuddled together in the bottom of their boat, were soon fast asleep. In dreams of home their loneliness and their troubles were all forgotten. Sometimes in the starlight, sometimes in the dark shadows of the overhanging trees, the boat drifted on. At last, toward morning, it was caught in an eddy and carried nearer the bank, where the current was almost imperceptible. Here the clumsy old bateau rocked and swung, sometimes going lazily forward, and then as lazily floating back again.

As the night faded away into the dim gray of morning, the bushes above the boat were thrust softly aside and a black face looked down upon the children. Then the black face disappeared as suddenly as it came. After awhile it appeared again. It was not an attractive face. In the dim light it seemed to look down on the sleeping children with a leer that was almost hideous. It was the face of a woman. Around her head was a faded red handkerchief, tied in a fantastic fashion, and as much of her dress as could be seen was ragged, dirty, and greasy. She was not pleasant to look upon, but the children slept on unconscious of her presence.

Presently the woman came nearer. On the lower bank a freshet had deposited a great heap of sand, which was now dry and soft. The woman sat down on this, hugging her knees with her arms, and gazed at the sleeping children long and earnestly. Then she looked up and down the river, but nothing was to be seen for the fog that lay on the water. She shook her head and muttered:

“Hit ’s p’izen down yer for dem babies. Yit how I gwine git um out er dar?”

She caught hold of the boat, turned it around, and, by means of the chain, drew it partially on the sand-bank. Then she lifted Lillian from the boat, wrapping the quilt closer about the child, carried her up the bank, and laid her beneath the trees where no dew had fallen. Returning, she lifted Lucien and placed him beside his sister. But the change aroused him. He raised himself on his elbow and rubbed his eyes. The negro woman, apparently by force of habit, slipped behind a tree.

“Where am I?” Lucien exclaimed, looking around in something of a fright. He caught sight of the frazzled skirt of the woman’s dress. “Who is there behind that tree?” he cried.

“Nobody but me, honey—nobody ner nothin’ but po’ ole Crazy Sue. Don’t be skeerd er me. I ain’t nigh ez bad ez I looks ter be.”

It was now broad daylight, and Lucien could see that the hideous ugliness of the woman was caused by a burn on the side of her face and neck.

“Wasn’t I in a boat?”

“Yes, honey; I brung you up yer fer ter keep de fog fum pizenin’ you.”

“I dreamed the Bad Man had me,” said Lucien, shivering at the bare recollection.

“No, honey; ’t want nobody ner nothin’ but po’ ole Crazy Sue. De boat down dar on de sand-bank, an’ yo’ little sissy layin’ dar soun’ asleep. Whar in de name er goodness wuz you-all gwine, honey?” asked Crazy Sue, coming nearer.

“We were going down the river hunting for Daddy Jake. He’s a runaway now. I reckon we’ll find him after a while.”

“Is you-all Marse Doc. Gaston’ chillun?” asked Crazy Sue, with some show of eagerness.

“Why, of course we are,” said Lucien.

Crazy Sue’s eyes fairly danced with joy. She clasped her hands together and exclaimed:

“Lord, honey, I could shout,—I could des holler and shout; but I ain’t gwine do it. You stay right dar by yo’ little sissy till I come back; I want ter run an’ make somebody feel good. Now, don’t you move, honey. Stay right dar.”

With that Crazy Sue disappeared in the bushes. Lucien kept very still. In the first place, he was more than half frightened by the strangeness of his surroundings, and, in the second place, he was afraid his little sister would wake and begin to cry. He felt like crying a little himself, for he knew he was many miles from home, and he felt very cold and uncomfortable. Indeed, he felt very lonely and miserable; but just when he was about to cry and call Daddy Jake, he heard voices near him. Crazy Sue came toward him in a half-trot, and behind her—close behind her—was Daddy Jake, his face wreathed in smiles and his eyes swimming in tears. Lucien saw him and rushed toward him, and the old man stooped and hugged the boy to his black bosom.

“Why, honey,” he exclaimed, “whar de name er goodness you come f’um! Bless you! ef my eyes wuz sore de sight un you would make um well. How you know whar yo’ Daddy Jake is?”

“Me and sister started out to hunt you,” said Lucien, whimpering a little, now that he had nothing to whimper for, “and I think you are mighty mean to run off and leave us all at home.”

“Now you talkin’, honey,” said Daddy Jake, laughing in his old fashion. “I boun’ I’m de meanes’ ole nigger in de Nunited State. Yit, ef I’d ’a’ know’d you wuz gwine ter foller me up so close, I’d ’a’ fotch you wid me, dat I would! An’ dar’s little Missy,” he exclaimed, leaning over the little girl, “an’ she’s a-sleepin’ des ez natchul ez ef she wuz in her bed at home. What I tell you-all?” he went on, turning to a group of negroes that had followed him,—Randall, Cupid, Isaiah, and others,—“What I tell you-all? Ain’t I done bin’ an’ gone an’ tole you dat deze chillun wuz de out-doin’est chillun on de top-side er de roun’ worl’?”

The negroes—runaways all—laughed and looked pleased, and Crazy Sue fairly danced. They made so much fuss that they woke Lillian, and when she saw Daddy Jake she gave one little cry and leaped in his arms. This made Crazy Sue dance again, and she would have kept it up for a long time, but Randall suggested to Daddy Jake that the boat ought to be hauled ashore and hidden in the bushes. Crazy Sue stayed with the children while the negro men went after the boat. They hauled it up the bank by the chain, and then they lifted and carried it several hundred yards away from the river, and hid it in the thick bushes and grass.

“Now,” said Daddy Jake, when they had returned to where they left the children, “we got ter git away f’um yer. Dey ain’t no tellin’ w’at gwine ter happen. Ef deze yer chillun kin slip up on us dis away w’at kin a grown man do?”

The old man intended this as a joke, but the others took him at his word, and were moving off. “Wait!” he exclaimed. “De chillun bleeze ter go whar I go. Sue, you pick up little Missy dar, an’ I’ll play hoss fer dish yer chap.”

Crazy Sue lifted Lillian in her arms, Daddy Jake stooped so that Lucien could climb up on his back, and then all took up their march for the middle of Hudson’s cane-brake. Randall brought up the rear in order, as he said, to “stop up de holes.”

It was a narrow, slippery, and winding path in which the negroes trod—a path that a white man would have found difficult to follow. It seemed to lead in all directions; but, finally, it stopped on a knoll high and dry above the surrounding swamp. A fire was burning brightly, and the smell of frying meat was in the air. On this knoll the runaway negroes had made their camp, and for safety they could not have selected a better place.

It was not long before Crazy Sue had warmed some breakfast for the children. The negroes had brought the food they found in the boat, and Crazy Sue put some of the biscuits in a tin bucket, hung the bucket on a stick, and held it over the fire. Then she gave them some bacon that had been broiled on a stone, and altogether they made a hearty breakfast.

During the morning most of the negro men stayed in the cane-brake, some nodding and some patching their clothes, which were already full of patches. But after dinner, a feast of broiled fish, roasted sweet potatoes, and ash-cake, they all went away, leaving Crazy Sue to take care of the children. After the men had all gone, the woman sat with her head covered with her arms. She sat thus for a long time. After a while Lucien went to her and put his hand on her shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothin’, honey; I wuz des a-settin’ yer a-studyin’ an’ a-studyin’. Lots er times I gits took dat a-way.”

“What are you studying about?” said Lucien.

“’Bout folks. I wuz des a-studyin’ ’bout folks, an’ ’bout how come I whar I is, w’en I oughter be somers else. W’en I set down dis a-way, I gits dat turrified in de min’ dat I can’t stay on de groun’ sca’cely. Look like I want ter rise up in de elements an’ fly.”

“What made you run away?” Lucien asked with some curiosity.

“Well, you know, honey,” said Crazy Sue, after a pause, “my marster ain’t nigh ez good ter his niggers ez yo’ pa is ter his’n. ’Tain’t dat my marster is any mo’ strick, but look like hit fret ’im ef he see one er his niggers settin’ down anywheres. Well, one time, long time ago, I had two babies, an’ dey wuz twins, an’ dey wuz des ’bout ez likely little niggers ez you ever did see. De w’ite folks had me at de house doin’ de washin’ so I could be where I kin nurse de babies. One time I wuz settin’ in my house nursin’ un um, an’ while I settin’ dar I went fast ter sleep. How long I sot dar ’sleep, de Lord only knows, but w’en I woked up, Marster wuz stan’in in de do’, watchin’ me. He ain’t say nothin, yit I knowed dat man wuz mad. He des turn on his heel an’ walk away. I let you know I put dem babies down an’ hustled out er dat house mighty quick.

“Well, sir, dat night de foreman come ’roun’ an’ tole me dat I mus’ go ter de fiel’ de nex’ mornin’. Soon ez he say dat, I up an’ went ter de big house an’ ax Marster w’at I gwine do wid de babies ef I went ter de fiel’. He stood an’ look at me, he did, an’ den he writ a note out er his pocket-book, an’ tol’ me ter han’ it ter de overseer. Dat w’at I done dat ve’y night, an’ de overseer, he took an’ read de note, an’ den he up an’ say dat I mus’ go wid de hoe-han’s, way over ter de two-mile place.

“I went, kaze I bleeze ter go; yit all day long, whiles I wuz hoein’ I kin year dem babies cryin’. Look like sometimes dey wuz right at me, an’ den ag’in look like dey wuz way off yander. I kep’ on a-goin’ an’ I kep’ on a-hoein’, an’ de babies kep’ on a-famishin’. Dey des fade away, an’ bimeby dey died, bofe un um on the same day. On dat day I had a fit an’ fell in de fier, an’ dat how come I burnt up so.

“Look like,” said the woman, marking on the ground with her bony forefinger—“look like I kin year dem babies cryin’ yit, an’ dat de reason folks call me Crazy Sue, kaze I kin year um cryin’ an’ yuther folks can’t. I’m mighty glad dey can’t, kaze it ’ud break der heart.”

“Why didn’t you come and tell Papa about it?” said Lucien, indignantly.

“Ah, Lord, honey!” exclaimed Crazy Sue, “yo’ pa is a mighty good man, an’ a mighty good doctor, but he ain’t got no medicine wa’t could ’a’ kyored me an’ my marster.”

In a little while Daddy Jake put in an appearance, and the children soon forgot Crazy Sue’s troubles, and began to think about going home.

“Daddy Jake,” said Lucien, “when are you going to take us back home?”

“I want to go right now,” said Lillian.

Daddy Jake scratched his head and thought the matter over.

“Dey ain’t no use talkin’,” said he, “I got ter carry you back an’ set you down in sight er de house, but how I gwine do it an’ not git kotched? Dat w’at troublin’ me.”

“Why, Papa ain’t mad,” said Lucien. “I heard him tell that mean old overseer he had a great mind to take his buggy whip to him for hitting you.”

“Ain’t dat man dead?” exclaimed Daddy Jake in amazement.

“No, he ain’t,” said Lucien. “Papa drove him off the place.”

“Well, I be blest!” said the old man with a chuckle. “W’at kinder head you reckon dat w’ite man got?—Honey,” he went on, growing serious again, “is you _sholy sho_ dat man ain’t dead?”

“Didn’t I see him after you went away? Didn’t I hear Papa tell him to go away? Didn’t I hear Papa tell Mamma he wished you had broken his neck? Didn’t I hear Papa tell Mamma that you were a fool for running away?” Lucien flung these questions at Daddy Jake with an emphasis that left nothing to be desired.

“Well,” said Daddy Jake, “dat mus’ be so, an’ dat bein’ de case, we’ll des start in de mornin’ an’ git home ter supper. We’ll go over yander ter Marse Meredy Ingram’s an’ borry his carriage an’ go home in style. I boun’ you, dey’ll all be glad to see us.”

Daddy Jake was happy once more. A great burden had been taken from his mind. The other negroes when they came in toward night seemed to be happy, too, because the old man could go back home; and there was not one but would have swapped places with him. Randall was the last to come, and he brought a big, fat chicken.

“I wuz cornin’ ’long cross de woods des now,” he said, winking his eye and shaking his head at Daddy Jake, “an’, bless gracious, dis chicken flew’d right in my han’. I say ter myse’f, I did, ‘Ole lady, you mus’ know we got comp’ny at our house,’ an’ den I clamped down on ’er, an’ yer she is. Now, ’bout dark, I’ll take ’er up yander an’ make Marse Ingram’s cook fry ’er brown fer deze chillun, an’ I’ll make ’er gimme some milk.”

Crazy Sue took the chicken, which had already been killed, wet its feathers thoroughly, rolled it around in the hot embers, and then proceeded to pick and clean it.

Randall’s programme was carried out to the letter. Mr. Meredith Ingram’s cook fried the chicken for him, and put in some hot biscuit for good measure, and the milker gave him some fresh milk, which she said would not be missed.

The children had a good supper, and they would have gone to sleep directly afterward, but the thought of going home with Daddy Jake kept them awake. Randall managed to tell Daddy Jake, out of hearing of the children, that Dr. Gaston and some of his negroes had been seen at Ross’s mill that morning.

“Well,” said Daddy Jake, “I bleeze ter beat Marster home. Ef he go back dar widout de chillun, my mistiss’ll drap right dead on de flo’.” This was his only comment.

Around the fire the negroes laughed and joked, and told their adventures. Lillian felt comfortable and happy, and as for Lucien, he himself felt a hero. He had found Daddy Jake, and now he was going to carry him back home.

Once, when there was a lull in the talk, Lillian asked why the frogs made so much fuss.

“I speck it’s kaze dey er mad wid Mr. Rabbit,” said Crazy Sue. “Dey er tryin’ der best ter drive ’im outen de swamp.”

“What are they mad with the Rabbit for?” asked Lucien, thinking there might be a story in the explanation.

“Hit’s one er dem ole-time fusses,” said Crazy Sue. “Hit’s most too ole ter talk about.”

“Don’t you know what the fuss was about?” asked Lucien.

“Well,” said Crazy Sue, “one time Mr. Rabbit an’ Mr. Coon live close ter one anudder in de same neighborhoods. How dey does now, I ain’t a-tellin’ you; but in dem times dey wa’n’t no hard feelin’s ’twix’ um. Dey des went ’long like two ole cronies. Mr. Rabbit, he wuz a fisherman, and Mr. Coon, he wuz a fisherman—”

“And put ’em in pens,” said Lillian, remembering an old rhyme she had heard.

“No, honey, dey ain’t no Willium-Come-Trimbletoe in dis. Mr. Rabbit an’ Mr. Coon wuz bofe fishermans, but Mr. Rabbit, he kotch fish, an’ Mr. Coon, he fished fer frogs. Mr. Rabbit, he had mighty good luck, an’ Mr. Coon, he had mighty bad luck. Mr. Rabbit, he got fat an’ slick, an’ Mr. Coon, he got po’ an’ sick.

“Hit went on dis a-way tell one day Mr. Coon meet Mr. Rabbit in de big road. Dey shook han’s, dey did, an’ den Mr. Coon, he ’low:

“‘Brer Rabbit, whar you git sech a fine chance er fish?’

“Mr. Rabbit laugh an’ say: ‘I kotch um outen de river, Brer Coon. All I got ter do is ter bait my hook,’ sezee.

“Den Mr. Coon shake his head an’ ’low: ‘Den how come I ain’t kin ketch no frogs?’

“Mr. Rabbit sat down in de road an’ scratched fer fleas, an’ den he ’low: ‘Hit’s kaze you done make um all mad, Brer Coon. One time in de dark er de moon, you slipped down ter de branch an’ kotch de ole King Frog; an’ ever sence dat time, w’enever you er passin’ by, you kin year um sing out, fus’ one an’ den anudder—_Yer he come! Dar he goes! Hit ’im in de eye; hit ’im in de eye! Mash ’im an’ smash ’im; mash ’im an’ smash ’im!_ Yasser, dat w’at dey say. I year um constant, Brer Coon, an’ dat des w’at dey say.’

“Den Mr. Coon up an’ say: ‘Ef dat de way dey gwine on, how de name er goodness kin I ketch um, Brer Rabbit? I bleeze ter have sump’n ter eat fer me an’ my fambly connection.’

“Mr. Rabbit sorter grin in de cornder er his mouf, an’ den he say: ‘Well, Brer Coon, bein’ ez you bin so sociable ’long wid me, an’ ain’t never showed yo’ toofies w’en I pull yo’ tail, I’ll des whirl in an’ he’p you out.’

“Mr. Coon, he say: ‘Thanky, thanky-do, Brer Rabbit.’

“Mr. Rabbit hung his fish on a tree lim’, an’ say: ‘Now, Brer Coon, you bleeze ter do des like I tell you.’

“Mr. Coon ’lowed dat he would ef de Lord spared ’im.

“Den Mr. Rabbit say: ‘Now, Brer Coon, you des rack down yander, an’ git on de big san’-bar ’twix’ de river an’ de branch. W’en you git dar you mus’ stagger like you sick, and den you mus’ whirl roun’ an’ roun’ an’ drap down like you dead. After you drap down, you must sorter jerk yo’ legs once er twice, an’ den you mus’ lay right still. Ef fly light on yo’ nose, let ’im stay dar. Don’t move; don’t wink yo’ eye; don’t switch yo’ tail. Des lay right dar, an’ ’t won’t be long ’fo’ you year f’um me. Yit don’t you move till I give de word.’

“Mr. Coon, he paced off, he did, an’ done des like Mr. Rabbit tol’ ’im. He staggered roun’ on de san’-bank, an’ den he drapped down dead. Atter so long a time, Mr. Rabbit come lopin’ ’long, an’ soon’s he git dar, he squall out, ‘Coon dead!’ Dis rousted de frogs, an’ dey stuck dey heads up fer ter see w’at all de rippit wuz ’bout. One great big green un up an’ holler, _W’at de matter? W’at de matter?_ He talk like he got a bad col’.

“Mr. Rabbit ’low: ‘Coon dead!’

“Frog say: _Don’t believe it! Don’t believe it!_

“N’er frog say: _Yes, he is! Yes, he is!_ Little bit er one say: _No, he ain’t! No, he ain’t!_

“Dey kep’ on ’sputin’ an’ ’sputin’, tell bimeby hit look like all de frogs in de neighborhoods wuz dar. Mr. Rabbit look like he ain’t a-yearin’ ner a-keerin’ wa’t dey do er say. He sot dar in de san’ like he gwine in mournin’ fer Mr. Coon. De Frogs kep’ gittin’ closer an’ closer. Mr. Coon, he ain’t move. W’en a fly’d git on ’im Mr. Rabbit he’d bresh ’im off.

“Bimeby he ’low: ‘Ef you want ter git ’im outen de way, now’s yo’ time, Cousin Frogs. Des whirl in an’ bury him deep in de san’.’

“Big ole Frog say: _How we gwine ter do it? How we gwine ter do it?_

“Mr. Rabbit ’low: ‘Dig de san’ out fum under ’im an’ let ’im down in de hole.’

“Den de Frogs dey went ter work sho nuff. Dey mus’ ’a’ bin a hunderd un um, an’ dey make dat san’ fly, mon. Mr. Coon, he ain’t move. De Frogs, dey dig an’ scratch in de san’ tell atter while dey had a right smart hole, an’ Mr. Coon wuz down in dar.

“Bimeby big Frog holler: _Dis deep nuff? Dis deep nuff?_

“Mr. Rabbit ’low: ‘Kin you jump out?’

“Big Frog say: _‘Yes, I kin! Yes, I kin!’_

“Mr. Rabbit say: ‘Den’t ain’t deep nuff.’

“Den de Frogs dey dig an’ dey dig, tell, bimeby, Big Frog say: _Dis deep nuff? Dis deep nuff?_

“Mr. Rabbit ’low: ‘Kin you jump out?’

“Big Frog say: _I dess kin! I dess kin!_

“Mr. Rabbit say: ‘Dig it deeper.’

“De Frogs keep on diggin’ tell bimeby, big Frog holler out: _Dis deep nuff? Dis deep nuff?_

“Mr. Rabbit ’low: ‘Kin you jump out?’

“Big Frog say: _No, I can’t! No, I can’t! Come he’p me! Come he’p me!_

“Mr. Rabbit bust out laughin’, and holler out:

“‘RISE UP, SANDY, AN’ GIT YO’ MEAT!’ an’ Mr. Coon riz.”

Lucien and Lillian laughed heartily at this queer story, especially the curious imitation of frogs both big and little that Crazy Sue gave. Lucien wanted her to tell more stories, but Daddy Jake said it was bedtime; and the children were soon sound asleep.

The next morning Daddy Jake had them up betimes. Crazy Sue took Lillian in her arms, and Daddy Jake took Lucien on his back. As they had gone into the cane-brake, so they came out. Randall and some of the other negroes wanted to carry Lillian, but Crazy Sue wouldn’t listen to them. She had brought the little girl in, she said, and she was going to carry her out. Daddy Jake, followed by Crazy Sue, went in the direction of Mr. Meredith Ingram’s house. It was on a hill, more than a mile from the river, and was in a grove of oak-trees. As they were making their way through a plum orchard, not far from the house, Crazy Sue stopped.

“Brer Jake,” she said, “dis is all de fur I’m gwine. I’m ’mos’ too close ter dat house now. You take dis baby an’ let dat little man walk. ’Tain’t many steps ter whar you gwine.” Crazy Sue wrung Daddy Jake’s hand, stooped and kissed the children, and with a “God bless you all!” disappeared in the bushes, and none of the three ever saw her again.

Mr. Meredith Ingram was standing out in his front yard, enjoying a pipe before breakfast. He was talking to himself and laughing when Daddy Jake and the children approached.

“Howdy, Mars’ Meredy,” said the old negro, taking off his hat and bowing as politely as he could with the child in his arms. Mr. Ingram looked at him through his spectacles and over them.

“Ain’t that Gaston’s Jake?” he asked, after he had examined the group.

“Yasser,” said Daddy Jake, “an’ deze is my marster’s little chillun.”

Mr. Ingram took his pipe out of his mouth.

“Why, what in the world!—Why, what under the sun!—Well, if this doesn’t beat—why, what in the nation!”—Mr. Ingram failed to find words to express his surprise.

Daddy Jake, however, made haste to tell Mr. Ingram that the little ones had drifted down the river in a boat, that he had found them, and wished to get them home just as quickly as he could.

“My marster bin huntin’ fer um, suh,” said the old negro, and I want ter beat him home, kaze ef he go dar widout deze chillun, my mistiss’ll be a dead ’oman—she cert’n’y will, suh.”

“Well, well, well!” exclaimed Mr. Ingram. “If this don’t beat—why, of course, I’ll send them home. I’ll go with ’em myself. Of course I will. Well, if this doesn’t—George! hitch up the carriage. Fetch out Ben Bolt and Rob Roy, and go and get your breakfast. Jake, you go and help him, and I’ll take these chaps in the house and warm ’em up. Come on, little ones. We’ll have something to eat and then we’ll go right home to Pappy and Mammy.” They went in, Mr. Ingram muttering to himself, “Well, if this doesn’t beat—”

After breakfast Mr. Ingram, the children, Daddy Jake, and George, the driver, were up and away, as the fox-hunters say. Daddy Jake sat on the driver’s seat with George, and urged on the horses. They traveled rapidly, and it is well they did, for when they came in sight of the Gaston place, Daddy Jake saw his master entering the avenue that led to the house. The old negro put his hands to his mouth and called so loudly that the horses jumped. Doctor Gaston heard him and stopped, and in a minute more had his children in his arms, and that night there was a happy family in the Gaston house. But nobody was any happier than Daddy Jake.

HOW A WITCH WAS CAUGHT

The little boy sat in a high chair and used his legs as drumsticks, much to the confusion of Uncle Remus, as it appeared. After a while the old man exclaimed:

“Well, my goodness en de gracious! how you ever in de roun’ worl’ er anywheres else speck me fer ter make any headway in tellin’ a tale wiles all dish yer racket gwine on? I don’t want ter call nobody’s pa, kase he mos’ allers talks too loud, en if I call der ma’t won’t make so mighty much difference, kase she done got so usen ter it dat she dunner w’en dey er makin’ any fuss. I believe dat ef everything wuz ter git right good en still on deze premises des one time, you’ ma would in about die wid de headache. Anyway, she’d be mighty sick, bekaze she ain’t usen ter not havin’ no fuss, en she des couldn’t git ’long widout it.

“I tell you right now, I’d be afeard fer ter tell any tale roun’ yer, kaze de fust news I know’d I’d git my eyes put out, er my leg broke, er sump’n’ n’er. I knows deze yer w’ite chillun, mon! dat I does; I knows um. Dey’ll git de upper hand er de niggers ef de Lord spar’s um. En he mos’ inginner’lly spar’s um.

“Well, now, ef you want ter hear dish yer tale w’at I bin tu’nin’ over in my min’ you des got ter come en set right yer in front er me, whar I kin keep my two eyes on you; kaze I ain’t gwine ter take no resks er no foolishness. Now, den, you des better behave, bekaze hit don’t cost me nothin’ fer ter cut dis tale right short off.

“One time der wuz a miller man w’at live by a river en had a mill. He wuz a mighty smart man. He tuck so much toll dat he tuck ’n buyed ’im a house, en’ he want ter rent dat ’ar house out ter folks, but de folks dey ’lowed dat de house wuz ha’nted. Dey’d come ’en rent de house, dey would, en move in dar, en den go upsta’rs en go ter bed. Dey’d go ter bed, dey would, but dey couldn’t sleep, en time it got day dey’d git out er dat house.

“De miller man, he ax’d um w’at de matter wuz, but dey des shuck der head en’ ’low de house wuz ha’nted. Den he tuck ’n try ter fine out w’at kind er ha’nt she wuz dat skeer folks. He sleep in de house, but he ain’t see nothin’, en de mos’ w’at he year wuz a big ole gray cat a-promenadin’ roun’ en hollerin’. Bimeby hit got so dat dey want no fun in havin’ de ha’nted house, en w’en folks’d come ’long de miller man, he’d des up en tell um dat de house ’uz ha’nted. Some ’ud go up en some wouldn’t, but dem w’at went up didn’t stay, kaze des ’bout bedtime dey’d fetch a yell en des come a-rushin’ down, en all de money in de Nunited States er Georgy wouldn’t git um fer ter go back up dar.

“Hit went on dis away twel one time a preacher man com’ ’long dar en say he wanted some’rs ter stay. He was a great big man, en he look like he wuz good accordin’. De miller man say he hate mighty bad for to discommerdate ’im, but he des pintedly ain’t got no place whar he kin put ’im ’cep’ dat ’ar ha’nted house. De preacher man say he des soon stay dar ez anywhar’s, kase he bin livin’ in deze low-groun’s er sorrer too long fer ter be sot back by any one-hoss ha’nts. De miller man ’lowed dat he wuz afeard de ha’nts ’ud worry ’im might’ly, but de preacher man ’low, he did, dat he use ter bein’ worried, en he up en tell de miller man dat he’d a heap rather stay in de house wid de ha’nt, no matter how big she is, dan ter stay out doors in de rain.

“So de miller man, he ’low he ain’t got no mo’ ’pology fer ter make, bekaze ef de preacher man wuz ready fer ter face de ha’nts and set up dar en out blink um, dey wouldn’t be nobody in de roun’ worl’ no gladder dan ’im. Den de miller man showed de preacher man how ter git in de house en had ’im a great big fier built. En atter de miller man wuz done gone, de preacher man drawed a cheer up ter de fier en waited fer de ha’nts, but dey ain’t no ha’nts come. Den w’en dey ain’t no ha’nts come, de preacher man tuck ’n open up he satchel en got ’im out some spar’ ribs en sot um by de fier fer ter cook, en den he got down en said he pra’rs, en den he got up en read he Bible. He wuz a mighty good man, mon, en he prayed en read a long time. Bimeby, w’en his spar’ ribs git done, he got some bread out’n he satchel, en fixed fer ter eat his supper.

“By de time he got all de meat off’n one er de ribs, de preacher man listened, en he year’d a monst’us scramblin’ en scratchin’ on de wall. He look aroun’, he did, en dar wuz a great big black cat a-sharpenin’ ’er claws on de door facin’. Folks, don’t talk! dat ’ar cat wuz er sight! Great long w’ite toofs en great big yaller eye-balls a-shinin’ like dey wuz lit up way back in ’er head. She stood dar a minit, dat ole black cat did, en den she ’gun ter sidle up like she wuz gwine ter mount dat preacher man right dar en den. But de preacher man, he des shoo’d at ’er, en it seem like dis sorter skeer’d ’er, kaze she went off.

“But de preacher man, he kep’ his eye open, en helt on ter his spar’ rib. Present’y he year de ole black cat comin’ back, en dis time she fotch wid ’er a great big gang er cats. Dey wuz all black des like she wuz, en der eye-balls _shineded_ en der lashes wuz long en w’ite. Hit look like de preacher man wuz a-gwine ter git surroundered.

“Dey come a-sidlin’ up, dey did, en de ole black cat made a pass at de preacher man like she wuz a-gwine ter t’ar he eyes out. De preacher man dodged, but de nex’ pass she made de preacher man fotch ’er wipe with his spar’ rib en cut off one er ’er toes. Wid dat de ole black cat fotch a yell dat you might a yeard a mile, en den she gin ’erself a sort er a twis’ en made her disappearance up de chimbley, en w’en she do dat all de yuther cats made der disappearance up de chimbley. De preacher man he got up, he did, en looked und’ de bed fer ter see ef he kin fine any mo’ cats, but dey wuz all done gone.

“Den he tuck ’n pick up de cat toe w’at he done knock off wid de spar’ rib, en wrop it up in a piece er paper en put it in he pocket. Den he say his pra’rs some mo’, en went ter bed en slep’ right straight along twel broad daylight, en nuthin’ ain’t dast ter bodder ’im.

“Nex’ mornin’ de preacher man got up, he did, en say his pra’rs en eat his breakkus, en den he ’low ter hisse’f dat he’ll go by en tell de miller man dat he mighty much erblige. ’Fo’ he start, hit come ’cross he min’ ’bout de cats w’at pester ’im de night befo’, and he tuck ’n feel in he pockets fer de big black cat toe w’at he done cut off wid de spar’ rib. But it seems like de toe done grow in de night, en bless goodness! w’en he unwrop it ’t want nuthin’ less dan a great big finger wid a ring on it.

“So de preacher man tuck ’n fix up all his contrapments, en den call on de miller man en tol’ ’im he wuz mighty much erblige kaze he let ’im stay in de house. De miller man wuz ’stonish’ fer ter see de preacher man, kaze he knew dat w’en folks stay all night in dat house dey ain’t come down no mo’. He wuz ’stonish’, but he didn’t say much. He des stan’ still en wunder.

“But de preacher man, he up ’n ax ’bout de miller man’s wife, en say he wants ter see ’er en tell ’er good-bye, bein’ ez how dey ’d all bin so good. So de miller man, he tuck ’n kyar de preacher inter de room whar his wife wuz layin’ in bed. De ole ’oman had de counterpin drawed up und’ ’er chin, but she look mighty bad roun’ de eyes. Yit, she tuck ’n’ howdied de preacher man en tole ’im he wuz mighty welcome.

“Dey talk en talk, dey did, en atter w’ile de preacher man hoi’ out his han’ fer ter tell de ’oman good-bye; but de ’oman, she belt out ’er lef’ han’, she did, like she want dat fer ter git shucken. But de preacher man wouldn’t shake dat un. He say dat ain’t nigh gwine ter do, bekaze w’en folks got any perliteness lef’ dey don’t never hol’ out de lef’ han’. De ’oman she say her right wuz cripple, but her ole man ’low he ain’t never hear ’bout dat befo’, en den he tuck’n make ’er pull it out from und’ de kivver, en den dey seed dat one er ’er fingers wuz done clean gone. De miller man he up ’n ’low:

“‘How come dis?’

“De ’oman she ’low, ‘I cut it off.’

“De miller man he ’low, ‘How you cut it off?’

“De ’oman she ’low, ‘I knock it off?’

“De miller man he ’low, ‘Wharbouts you knock it off?’

“De ’oman she ’low, ‘I broke it off’

“De miller man he ’low, ‘When you break it off?’

“Den de ’oman she ain’t say nuthin’. She des lay dar, she did, en pant en look skeered. De preacher man he study a little en den he say he speck he kin kyo’ dat han’, en he tuck de finger out ’n he pocket en tried it on de ’oman’s han’, en it fit! Yassar! it fit in de place right smick smack smoove. Den de preacher man he up en tell de miller man dat de ’oman wuz a witch, en wid dat de ’oman fetched a yell en kivvered ’er head wid de counterpin.

“Yit dis ain’t do ’er no good, kaze de preacher man say he done look in de books en de onliest way fer ter kyo’ a witch is ter bu’n ’er; en it ain’t look so bad, nuther, kaze when dey tied ’er she tuck ’n tu’n ter be a great big black cat, en dat’s de way she wuz w’en she wuz burnt.”

THE LITTLE BOY AND HIS DOGS

“Uncle Remus’s little patron seemed to be so shocked at the burning of the woman that the old man plunged at once into a curious story about a little boy and his two dogs.

“One time,” said Uncle Remus, scratching his head as if by that means to collect his scattered ideas, “dere wuz a ’oman livin’ ’longside er de big road, en dish yer ’oman she had one little boy. Seem like ter me dat he mus’ ’a’ bin des ’bout yo’ size. He mout ’a’ bin a little broader in de shoulder en a little longer in de leg, yit, take ’im up one side en down de udder, he wuz des ’bout yo’ shape en size. He wuz a mighty smart little boy, en his mammy sot lots by ’im. Seem like she ain’t never have no luck ’cept’n ’long wid dat boy, kaze dey wuz one time w’en she had a little gal, en, bless yo’ soul! somebody come ’long en tote de little gal off, en w’en dat happen de ’oman ain’t have no mo’ little gal, en de little boy ain’t have no mo’ little sister. Dis make bofe er um mighty sorry, but look like de little boy wuz de sorriest, kaze he show it de mosest.

“Some days he’d take a notion fer ter go en hunt his little sister, en den he’d go down de big road en clam a big pine-tree, en git right spang in de top, en look all roun’ fer ter see ef he can’t see his little sister some’rs in de woods. He couldn’t see ’er, but he’d stay up dar in de tree en swing in de win’ en ’low ter hisself dat maybe he mout see ’er bimeby.

“One day, w’iles he wuz a-settin’ up dar, he see two mighty fine ladies walkin’ down de road. He clam down out’n de tree, he did, en run en tol’ his mammy. Den she up en ax:

“‘How is dey dress, honey?’

“‘Mighty fine, mammy, mighty fine, puffy-out petticoats en long green veils.’

“‘How des dey look, honey?’

“‘Spick span new, mammy.’

“‘Dey ain’t none er our kin, is dey, honey?’

“‘Dat dey ain’t, mammy—dey er mighty fine ladies.’

“De fine ladies, dey come on down de road, dey did, en stop by de ’oman’s house, en beg ’er fer ter please en gi’ um some water. Dey little boy, he run en fetch ’em a gourd full, en dey put de gourd und’ der veils, en drunk, en drunk, en drunk des like dey wuz mighty nigh perish fer water. De little boy watch um. ’Reckly he holler out:

“‘Mammy, mammy! W’at you recken? Dey er lappin’ de water.’ De woman hollered back:

“‘I recken dat’s de way de quality folks does, honey.’

“Den de ladies beg fer some bread, en de little boy tuck um a pone. Dey eat it like dey wuz mighty nigh famish fer bread. Bimeby de little boy holler out en say:

“‘Mammy, mammy! W’at you recken? Dey er got great long tushes.’ De ’oman, she holler back:

“’ I recken all de quality folks is got um, honey.’

“Den de ladies ax fer some water fer to wash der han’s, en de little boy brung um some. He watch um, en bimeby he holler out:

“‘Mammy, mammy! W’at you recken? Dey got little bit er hairy han’s en arms.’ De ’oman, she holler back:

“‘I recken all de quality folks is got um, honey.’

“Den de ladies beg de ’oman fer ter please en let de little boy show um whar de big road forks. But de little boy don’t want ter go. He holler out:

“‘Mammy, folks don’t hatter be showed whar de road forks’; but de oman she ’low:

“‘I recken de quality folks does, honey.’

“De little boy, he ’gun ter whimpie en cry kaze he don’t want ter go wid de ladies, but de ’oman say he oughter be ’shame er hisse’f fer ter be gwine on dat away ’fo’ de quality folks, en mo’ ’n dat, he mout run upon his little sister en fetch ’er home.

“Now dish yer little boy had too mighty bad dogs. One er um wuz name Minnyminny Morack, en de t’er one wuz name Follerlinsko, en dey wuz so bad dey hatter be tied in de yard day en night, ’cep’ w’en dey wuzent a-huntin’. So de little boy, he went en got a pan er water en sot ’im down in de middle er de flo’, en den he went en got ’im a willer lim’, en he stuck it in de groun’. Den he ’low:

“‘Mammy, w’en de water in dish yer pan tu’ns ter blood, den you run out en tu’n loose Minnyminny Morack en Follerlinsko, en den w’en you see dat dar wilier lim’ a-shakin’, you run en sick um on my track.’

“De ’oman, she up an’ say she’d tu’n de dogs loose, en den de little boy he stuck his han’s in he pockets en went on down de road a wisserlin’ des same ez enny yuther little boy, ’cep’ dat he wuz lots smarter. He went on down de road, he did, en de fine quality ladies dey come on behin’.

“De furder he went de faster he walk. Dis make de quality ladies walk fas’, too, en ’t want so mighty long ’fo’ de little boy year um makin’ a mighty kuse fuss, en w’en he t’un ’roun’, bless gracious! dey wuz a-pantin’, kaze dey wuz so tired en hot. De little boy ’low ter hisse’f dat it mighty kuse how ladies kin pant same es a wil’ varment, but he say he speck dat de way de quality ladies does w’en dey gits hot en tired, en he make like he can’t year um, kaze he want ter be nice en perlite.

“Atter a w’ile, w’en de quality ladies t’ink de little boy want lookin’ at um, he seed one er um drap down on ’er all-fours en trot ’long des like a varmint, en’t want long ’fo’ de yuther one drapt down on ’er all-fours. Den de little boy ’lowed:

“_Shoo!_ Ef dat de way quality ladies res’ derse’f w’en dey git tired I reckon a little chap ’bout my size better be fixin fer ter res’ hisse’f.’

“So he look ’roun’, he did, en he tuck ’n pick ’im out a great big pine-tree by de side er de road, en ’gun to clam it. Den w’en dey see dat, one er de quality ladies ’low:

“‘My goodness! W’at in de worl’ you up ter now?’ Little boy he say, sezee:

“‘I’m des a-clamin’ a tree fer ter res’ my bones.’ Ladies, dey ’low:

“‘Whyn’t you res’ um on de groun’?’ Little boy say, sezee:

“‘Bekaze I like ter git up whar it cool en high.

“De quality ladies, dey tuck ’n walk ’roun’ en ’roun’ de tree like dey wuz medjun it fer ter see how big it is. Bimeby, atter w’ile dey say, sezee:

“‘Little boy, little boy! you better come down frum dar en show us de way ter de forks er de road.’ Den de little boy ’low:

“‘Des keep right on, ladies—you’ll fin’ de forks er de road; you can’t miss um. I’m afeard fer ter come down, kaze I might fall en hurt some er you all.’ De ladies dey say, sezee:

“‘You better come down yer ’fo’ we run en tell yo’ mammy how bad you is.’ De little boy ’low:

“‘W’iles you er tellin’ ’er please um’ tell ’er how skeerd I is.’

“Den de quality ladies got mighty mad. Dey walked ’roun’ dat tree en fairly snorted. Dey pulled off der bonnets, en der veils, en der dresses, en, lo en beholes! de little boy seen dey wuz two great big pant’ers. Dey had great big eyes, en big sharp tushes, en great long tails, en dey look up at de little boy en growl en grin at ’im twel he come mighty nigh havin’ a chill. Dey tried ter clam de tree, but dey had done trim der claws so dey could git on gloves, en dey couldn’t clam no mo’.

“Den one er um sot down in de road en made a kuse mark in de san’, en der great long tails tu’n’d ter axes, en no sooner is der tails tu’n ter axes den dey ’gun ter cut de tree down. I ain’t dast ter tell you how sharp dem axes wuz, kase you wouldn’t nigh b’lieve me. One er um stood on one side er de tree, en de yuther one stood on de yuther side, en dey whack at dat tree like dey wuz takin’ a holiday. Dey whack out chips ez big ez yo’ hat, en’t want so mighty long ’fo’ de tree wuz ready fer ter fall.

“But w’iles de little boy wuz settin’ up dar, skeerd mighty nigh ter def, hit come inter his min’ dat he had some eggs in his pocket w’at he done brung wid ’im fer ter eat w’enever he git hongry. He tuck out one er de eggs en broke it, en say: ‘Place, fill up!’ en, bless yo’ soul! de place fill up sho ’nuff, en de tree look des ’zackly like nobody ain’t bin a-cuttin’ on it.

“But dem ar pant’ers dey wuz werry vig’rous. Dey des spit on der han’s en cut away. W’en dey git de tree mighty nigh cut down de little boy he pull out ’n’er egg en broke it, en say, ‘Place, fill up!’ en by de time he say it de tree wuz done made soun’ agin. Dey kep’ on dis away twel de little boy ’gun ter git skeerd agin. He done broke all he eggs, ’ceptin’ one, en dem ar creeturs wuz des a-cuttin’ away like dey wuz venomous, w’ich dey mos’ sholy wuz.

“Des ’bout dat time de little boy mammy happen ter stumble over de pan er water w’at wuz settin’ down on de flo’, en dar it wuz all done tu’n ter blood. Den she tuck ’n run en unloose Minnyminny Morack en Follerlinsko. Den w’en she do dat she see de wilier lim’ a-shakin’, en den she put de dogs on de little boy track, en away dey went. De little boy year um a-comin’, en he holler out:

“‘Come on, my good dogs. Here, dogs, here.’

“De pant’ers dey stop choppin’ en lissen. One ax de yuther one w’at she year. Little boy say:

“‘You don’ year nothin’. Go on wid yo’ choppin.

“De pant’ers dey chop some mo’, en den dey think dey year de dogs a-comin’. Den dey try der bes fer ter git away, but’t want no use. Dey ain’t got time fer ter change der axes back inter tails, en co’se dey can’t run wid axes draggin’ behin’ um. So de dogs cotch um. De little boy, he ’low:

“‘Shake um en bite um. Drag um ’roun’ en ’roun’ twel you drag um two mile.’ So de dogs dey drag um ’roun’ two mile. Den de little boy say, sezee:

“‘Shake um en t’ar um. Drag um ’roun’ en ’roun’ twel you drag um ten mile.’ So dey drag um ten mile, en by de time dey got back, de pant’ers wuz col’ en stiff.

“Den de little boy clum down out ’n de tree, en sot down fer ter res’ ’hisse’f. Bimeby atter w’ile, he ’low ter hisse’f dat bein’ he hay so much fun, he b’lieve he takes his dogs en go way off in de woods fer ter see ef he can’t fin’ his little sister. He call his dogs, he did, en went off in de woods, en dey ain’t bin gone so mighty fur ’fo’ he seed a house in de woods away off by itse’f.

“De dogs dey went up en smelt ’roun’, dey did, en come wid der bristles up, but de little boy ’low he’d go up dar anyhow en see w’at de dogs wuz mad ’bout. So he call de dogs en went todes de house, en w’en he got close up he saw a little gal totin’ wood en water. She wuz a mighty purty little gal, kaze she had a milk-white skin, en great long yaller hair; but ’er cloze wuz all in rags, en she wuz cryin’ kaze she hatter work so hard. Minnyminny Morack en Follerlinsko wagged der tails w’en dey seed de little gal, en de little boy know’d by dat dat she wuz his sister.

“So he went up en ax er w’at ’er name is, en she say she dunner w’at ’er name is, kaze she so skeerd she done fergit. Den he ax ’er w’at de name er goodness she cryin’ ’bout, en she say she cryin’ kaze she hatter work so hard. Den he ax ’er who de house belong ter, en she ’low it b’long ter a great big ole black B’ar, en dis old B’ar make ’er tote wood en water all de time. She say de water is ter go in de big wash-pot, en de wood is fer ter make de pot bile, en de pot wuz ter cook folks w’at de great big ole B’ar brung home ter he chilluns.

“De little boy didn’t tell de little gal dat he wuz ’er br’er, but he ’low dat he was gwine ter stay en eat supper wid de big ole B’ar. De little girl cried en ’low he better not, but de little boy say he ain’t feared fer ter eat supper wid a B’ar. So dey went in de house, en w’en de little boy got in dar, he seed dat de B’ar had two great big chilluns, en one er um wuz squattin’ on de bed, en de yuther one wuz squattin down in de h’ath. De chilluns, dey wuz bofe er um name Cubs, fer short, but de little boy want skeerd er um, kaze dar wuz his dogs fer ter make way wid um ef dey so much ez roll der eye-ball.

“De ole B’ar wuz a mighty long time comin’ back, so de little gal she up ’n fix supper, anyhow, en de little boy he tuck ’n scrouge Cubs fus on one side en den on yuther, en him en de little gal got much ez dey want. Atter supper de little boy tole de little gal dat he’d take en comb ’er ha’r des ter w’ile away de time; but de little gal ha’r ain’t bin comb fer so long, en it am got in such a tankle, dat it make de po’ creetur cry fer ter hear anybody talkin’ ’bout combin’ un it. Den de little boy ’low he ain’t gwine ter hurt ’er, en he tuck ’n warm some water in a pan en put it on ’er ha’r, en den he comb en curlt it des ez nice as you mos’ ever see.

“W’en de ole B’ar git home he wuz mighty tuck ’n back w’en he seed he had com’ny, en w’en he see um all settin’ down like dey come den fer ter stay. But he wuz mighty perlite, en he shuck han’s all ’roun’, en set down by de fier en dry his boots, en ax ’bout de craps, en ’low dat de wedder would be monstus fine ef dey could git a little season er rain.

“Den he tuck ’n make a great ’miration over de little gal’s ha’r, en he ax de little boy how in de roun’ worl’ kin he curl it en fix it so nice. De little un ’low it’s easy enough. Den de ole B’ar say he b’lieve he like ter git his ha’r curlt up dat way, en de little boy say:

“‘Fill de big pot wid water.’

“De ole B’ar filled de pot wid water. Den de little boy say:

“‘Buil’ a fier und’ de pot en heat de water hot.’

“W’en de water got scaldin’ hot, de little boy say:

“‘All ready, now. Stick yo’ head in. Hit ’s de onliest way fer ter make yo’ ha’r curl.’