Chapter VI: Part 6

The old man closed his eyes again, as though trying to remember something. He frowned and smacked his mouth before he spoke, “It look like dat I never is ter git de tas’e er dat chicken-pie what yo’ gran’ma sont me out’n my mouf. I dunner when I been had any chicken-pie what stayed wid me like dat chicken-pie. But ’bout dat bettin’,” he remarked, straightening himself in his chair, “I speck I mus’ ’a’ been a-dreamin’. I know mighty well it couldn’t ’a’ been you; so we’ll des up an’ say it wuz little Dreamus, an’ let it go at dat. All I know is dat dey wuz a little chap loungin’ roun’ here tryin’ fer ter l’arn how ter play mumbly-peg wid one er de case-knives what he tuck fum de white folks’ dinner-table, an’ whiles he wuz in de middle er his l’arnin’, de ol’ speckled hen run fum under de house here, an’ sot up a mighty cacklin’, kaze she fear’d some un wuz gwineter interrupt de eggs what she been nussin’ an’ warmin’ up. She cackle, an’ she cackle, an’ den she cackle some mo’ fer ter keep fum fergittin’ how; an’ ’long ’bout dat time, dish yer little boy what I been tellin’ you ’bout--I speck we’ll be bleeze ter call him Dreamus--he up wid a rock an’ flung it right at ’er, an’ ef she’d ’a’ been in de way er de rock, he’d ’a’ come mighty nigh hittin’ her. Dis make de ol’ hen bofe skeer’d an’ fear’d an’ likewise mad, an’ she hitched a squall on ter her cackle, an’ flop her wings. Seein’ dat de hen wuz mad, dis little chap, which he name Dreamus, he got mad, too, an’ he ’lowed, ‘I bet you I make you hush!’ an’ dar dey had it, de ol’ hen runnin’ an’ squallin’, an’ de little chap zoonin’ rocks at her. I speck de hen would ’a’ bet ef she’d ’a’ know’d how--an’ she sho’ would ’a’ won de bet, kaze de las’ news I hear fum ’er she wuz runnin’ an’ squallin’.”

The little boy squirmed uneasily in his chair. He remembered the incident very well, so well that he hardly knew what to say. But after a while, thinking that it was both necessary and polite to say something, he declared that when he made that remark to the hen he knew she wouldn’t understand him, and that what he said about betting was just a saying.

“Dat mought be, honey,” said Uncle Remus, “but don’t you fool yo’se’f ’bout dat hen not knowin’ how ter talk, kaze dey has been times an’ places when de creeturs kin do lots mo’ talkin’ dan folks. When you git ter be ol’ ez what I is, you’ll know dat talkin’ ain’t got nothin’ in de roun’ worl’ ter do wid fedders, an’ needer wid fur. I hear you say you want ter bet wid de ol’ hen, an’ ef you still wantin’ you got a mighty good chance dis day ef de sun is mighty nigh down. I’ll bet you a thrip ag’in a ginger-cake dat when you had yo’ dinner you ain’t fin’ no chicken gizzard in yo’ part er de pie.”

“No,” replied the child, “I didn’t, and when I asked grandmother about it, she said she was going to raise some chickens next year with double gizzards.”

“Did she say dat? Did Miss Sally say dat?” inquired Uncle Remus, laughing delightedly. “Well, suh, dat sho’ do bang my time! How come she ter know dat some er de creeturs got double gizzards? She sho’ is de outdoin’est white ’oman what’s yever been bornded inter de worl’. She done sont me de chicken gizzard des so I kin tell you ’bout de double gizzards an’ de what-nots. Double gizzards! De ve’y name flings me ’way back yander ter ol’ folks an’ ol’ times. Laws-a-massy! I wonder what Miss Sally gwine do nex’; anybody what guess it oughter be president by good rights.” Uncle Remus paused, and lowered his voice to a confidential tone--“She ain’t tell you ’bout de time when de Yallergater wuz honin’ fer ol’ Brer Rabbit’s double gizzards, is she, honey?”

“No, she didn’t tell me that, but she laughed, and when I asked her what she was laughing at, she said I’d find out by the time I was seven feet tall.”

“You hear dat, don’t you?” Uncle Remus spoke as though there were a third person in the room. “What I been tellin’ you all dis time?” and then he laughed as though this third person were laughing with him. “You may try, an’ you may fly, but you never is ter see de beat er Miss Sally.”

“Was grandmother talking about a tale, Uncle Remus? It must have been a very funny one, for she laughed until she had to take off her spectacles and wipe them dry,” said the little boy.

“Dat’s her! dat’s Miss Sally up an’ down, an’ dey can’t nobody git ahead er her. She know’d mighty well dat time you say sump’n ’bout double gizzards my min’ would fly right back ter de time when de Yalligater wuz dribblin’ at de mouf, an’ ol’ Brer Rabbit wuz shaking in his shoes.”

“If it’s a long story, I’m afraid you haven’t time to tell it now,” suggested the little boy.

The child was so polite that the old negro stood somewhat in awe of him, and he was afraid, too, that it was ominous of some misfortune--there was something uncanny about it from Uncle Remus’s point of view. “Bless you, honey! I got des ez much time ez what dey is--it all b’longs ter me an’ you. Maybe you wanter go some’rs else; maybe you’ll wait twel some yuther day fer de platted whip dat I hear you talkin’ ’bout.”

“No; I’ll wait and get the story and the whip together--if you are not too tired.”

The old negro looked at the little boy from the corner of his eye to see if he was really in earnest. Satisfying himself on that score, he promptly began to plait the whip while he unraveled the story. He seemed to be more serious than usual, but one of the peculiarities of Uncle Remus, as many a child had discovered, was that he was not to be judged by any outward aspect. This is the way he began:

“Ever since I been pirootin’ roun’ in deze low-groun’s, it’s been de talk er dem what know’d dat Brer Rabbit wuz a mighty man at a frolic. I don’t speck he’d show up much in deze days, but in de times when de creeturs wuz bossin’ dey own jobs, Brer Rabbit wuz up fer perty nigh ev’ything dat wuz gwine on ef dey want too much work in it. Dey couldn’t be a dance er a quiltin’ nowhar’s aroun’ but what he’d be dar; he wuz fust ter come an’ last ter go.

“Well, dey wuz one time when he went too fur an’ stayed too late, bekaze a big rain come endurin’ de time when dey wuz playin’ an’ dancin’, an’ when Brer Rabbit put out fer home, he foun’ dat a big freshet done come an’ gone. De dreens had got ter be creeks, de creeks had got ter be rivers, an’ de rivers--well, I ain’t gwine ter tell you what de rivers wuz kaze you’d think dat I done tol’ de trufe good-bye. By makin’ big jumps an’ gwine out er his way, Brer Rabbit manage fer ter git ez close ter home ez de creek, but when he git dar, de creek wuz so wide dat it make him feel like he been los’ so long dat his fambly done fergot him. Many an’ many a time had he cross’ dat creek on a log, but de log done gone, an’ de water wuz spread out all over creation. De water wuz wide, but dat wa’n’t mo’ dan half--it look like it wuz de wettest water dat Brer Rabbit ever lay eyes on.

“Dey wuz a ferry dar fer times like dis, but it look like it wuz a bigger fresh dan what dey had counted on. Brer Rabbit, he sot on de bank an’ wipe de damp out’n his face an’ eyes, an’ den he holla’d fer de man what run de ferry. He holla’d an’ holla’d, an’ bimeby, he hear some un answer him, an’ he looked a little closer, an’ dar wuz de man, which his name wuz Jerry, way up in de top lim’s uv a tree; an’ he looked still closer, an’ he seed dat Jerry had company, kaze dar wuz ol’ Brer B’ar settin’ at de foot er de tree, waitin’ fer Jerry fer ter come down so he kin tell ’im howdy.” Uncle Remus paused to see what effect this statement would have on the little boy. The youngster said nothing, but his shrewd smile showed the old man that he fully appreciated the reason why Jerry was in no hurry to shake hands with Brother Bear.

“Well, suh, Brer Rabbit took notice dat dey wuz sump’n mo’ dan dampness ’twix’ um, an he start in ter holla again, an’ he holla’d so loud, an’ he holla’d so long, dat he woke up ol’ Brer Yalligater. Now, it ain’t make ol’ Brer Yalligater feel good fer ter be wokened up at dat hour, kaze he’d des had a nice supper er pine-knots an’ sweet ’taters, an’ he wuz layin’ out at full lenk on his mud bed. He ’low ter hisse’f, he did, ‘Who in de nation is dis tryin’ fer ter holla de bottom out er de creek?’ He lissen, an’ den he turn over an’ lissen ag’in. He shot one eye, an’ den he shot de yuther one, but dey ain’t no sleepin’ in dat neighberhood. Jerry in de tree, he holla back, ‘Can’t come--got comp’ny!’

“Brer Yalligater, he hear dis, an’ he say ter hisse’f dat ef nobody can’t come, he kin, an’ he riz ter de top wid no mo’ fuss dan a fedder-bed makes when you let it ’lone. He riz, he did, an’ his two eyes look des perzackly like two bullets floatin’ on de water. He riz an’ wunk his eye, an’ ax Brer Rabbit howdy, an’ mo’ speshually how is his daughter. Brer Rabbit, he say dat dey ain’t no tellin’ how his daughter is, kaze when he lef’ home her head wuz a-swellin’. He say dat some er de neighbors’ chillun come by an’ flung rocks at her an’ one un um hit her on top er de head right whar de cow-lick is, an’ he hatter run atter de doctor.

“Brer Yalligater ’low, ‘You don’t tell me, Brer Rabbit, dat it’s come ter dis! Yo’ chillun gittin’ chunked by yo’ neighbors’ chillun! Well, well, well! I wish you’d tell me wharbouts it’s all a-gwine ter een’ at. Why, it’ll git so atter while dat dey ain’t no peace anywhar’s ’ceppin at my house in de bed er de creek.’

“Brer Rabbit say, ‘Ain’t it de trufe? An’ not only does Brer Fox chillun chunk my chillun on dey cow-licks, but no sooner is I gone atter de doctor dan here come de creek a-risin’. I may be wrong, but I ain’t skeer’d ter say dat it beats anything I yever is lay eyes on. Over yander in de fur woods is what my daughter is layin’ wid de headache, an’ here’s her pa, an’ ’twix’ us is de b’ilin’ creek. Ef I wuz ter try ter wade, ten ter one de water would be over my head, an’ ef not dat bad, all de pills what de doctor gi’ me would melt in my pocket. An’ dey might pizen me, kaze de doctor ain’t say dey wuz ter be tuck outside.’

“Ol’ Brer Yalligater float on de water like he ain’t weigh no mo’ dan one er deze yer postitch stomps, an’ he try ter drop a tear. He groan, he did, an’ float backerds an’ forrerds like a tired canoe. He say, ‘Brer Rabbit, ef dey yever wuz a rover you is one. Up you come an’ off you go, an’ dey ain’t no mo’ keepin’ up wid you dan ef you had wings. Ef you think you kin stay in one place long enough, I’ll try ter put you ’cross de creek. Brer Rabbit kinder rub his chin whiles he wiggle his nose. He ’low, sezee, ‘Brer ’Gater, how deep is dat water what you floatin’ in?’ Brer Yalligater say, sezee, ‘Brer Rabbit, ef me an’ my ol’ ’oman wuz ter jine heads, an’ I wuz ter stan’ on de tip-een’ my tail, dey’ll still be room enough fer all er my chillun ’fo’ we totch bottom.’

“Brer Rabbit, he fell back like he gwineter faint. He ’low, ‘Brer ’Gater, you don’t tell me! You sholy don’t mean dem last words! Why, you make me feel like I’m furder fum home and dem what’s done lost fer good! How de name er goodness you gwineter put me ’cross dis slippery water?’ Brer Yalligater, he blow a bubble or two out’n his nose, an’ den he say, sezee, ‘Ef you kin stay still in one place long ’nough, I’m gwineter take you ’cross on my back. You nee’nter say thanky, yit I want you ter know dat I ain’t eve’ybody’s water-hoss.’ Brer Rabbit he ’low, sezee, ‘I kin well b’lieve dat, Brer ’Gater, but somehow, I kinder got a notion dat yo’ tail mighty limber. I hear ol’ folks say dat you kin knock a chip fum de back er yo’ head wid de tip-een’ er yo’ tail an’ never haf try.’ Brer Yalligater smack his mouf, an’ say, sezee, ‘Limber my tail may be, Brer Rabbit, an’ fur-reachin’, but don’t blame me. It wuz dat a-way when it wuz ’gun ter me. It’s all j’inted up ’cordin’ ter natur.’

“Brer Rabbit, he study an’ study, an’ de mo’ he study, de wuss he like it. But he bleeze ter go home--dey wa’n’t no two ways ’bout dat--an’ he ’low, sezee, ‘I speck what you say is some’rs in de neighborhoods er de trufe, Brer ’Gater, an’ mo’ dan dat, I b’lieve I’ll go ’long wid you. Ef you’ll ride up a leetle closer, I’ll make up my mind so I won’t keep you waitin’.’ Brer Yalligater, he float by de side er de bank same ez a cork out’n a pickle bottle. He ain’t do like he in a hurry, kaze he drapt a word er two about de wedder, an’ he say dat de water wuz mighty col’ down dar in de slushes. But Brer Rabbit tuck notice dat when he smole one er his smiles, he show’d up a double row er tushes, dat look like dey’d do mighty good work in a saw-mill. Brer Rabbit, he ’gun ter shake like he havin’ a chill; he ’low, ‘I feel dat damp, Brer ’Gater, dat I mought des ez well be in water up ter my chin!’ Brer Yalligater ain’t say nothin’, but he can’t hide his tushes. Brer Rabbit look up, he look down, an’ he look all aroun’. He ain’t skacely know what ter do. He ’low, ‘Brer ’Gater, yo’ back mighty roughnin’; how I gwine ter ride on it?’ Brer Yalligater say, sezee, ‘De roughnin’ will he’p you ter hol’ on, kaze you’ll hatter ride straddle. You kin des fit yo’ foots on de bumps an’ kinder brace yo’se’f when you think you see a log floatin’ at us. You kin des set up dar same ez ef you wuz settin’ at home in yo’ rockin’-cheer.

“Brer Rabbit shuck his head, but he got on, he did, an’ he ain’t no sooner git on dan he wish mighty hard he wuz off. Brer Yalligater say, sezee. ‘You kin pant ef you wanter, Brer Rabbit, but I’ll do de paddlin’,’ an’ den he slip thoo de water des like he greased. Brer Rabbit sho’ wuz skeer’d but he keep his eye open, an’ bimeby he tuck notice dat Brer Yalligater wa’n’t makin’ fer de place whar de lan’in’s at, an’ he up an’ sesso. He ’low, ‘Brer ’Gater, ef I ain’t mighty much mistooken, you ain’t headin’ fer de lan’in’.’ Brer Yalligater say, sezee, ‘You sho’ is got mighty good eyes, Brer Rabbit. I been waitin’ fer you a long time, an’ I’m de wust kinder waiter. I most know you ain’t ferget dat day in de stubble, when you say you gwineter show me ol’ man Trouble. Well, you ain’t only show ’im ter me, but you made me shake han’s wid ’im. You sot de dry grass afire, an’ burn me scandalious. Dat de reason my back so rough, an’ dat de reason my hide so tough. Well, I been a-waitin’ sence dat time, an’ now here you is. You burn me twel I hatter squench de burnin’ in de big quagmire.’

“Brer Yalligater laugh, but he had de laugh all on his side, kaze dat wuz one er de times when Brer Rabbit ain’t feel like gigglin’. He sot dar a-shakin’ an’ a-shiverin’. Bimeby he ’low, sezee, ‘What you gwine do, Brer ’Gater?’ Brer Yalligater, say, sezee, ‘It look like ter me dat sence you sot de dry grass afire, I been havin’ symptoms. Dat what de doctor say. He look at my tongue, an’ feel er my pulsh, an’ shake his head. He say dat bein’s he’s my frien’, he don’t mind tellin’ me dat my symptoms is gittin’ mo’ wusser dan what dey been, an’ ef I don’t take sump’n I’ll be failin’ inter one deze yer inclines what make folks flabby an’ weak.’

“Brer Rabbit, he shuck an’ he shiver’d. He ’low, sezee, ‘What else de doctor say, Brer ’Gater?’ Brer Yalligater keep on a-slippin’ along; he say, sezee, ‘De doctor ain’t only look at my tongue--he medjer’d my breff, an’ he hit me on my bosom--tip-tap-tap!--an’ he say dey ain’t but one thing dat’ll kyo me. I ax ’im what dat is, an’ he say it’s Rabbit gizzard.’ Brer Yalligater slip an’ slide along, an’ wait fer ter see what Brer Rabbit gwineter say ter dat. He ain’t had ter wait long, kaze Brer Rabbit done his thinkin’ like one er deze yer machines what got lightnin’ in it. He ’low, sezee, ‘It’s a mighty good thing you struck up wid me dis day, Brer ’Gater, kaze I got des perzackly de kinder physic what you lookin’ fer. All de neighbors say I’m mighty quare an’ I speck I is, but quare er not quare, I’m long been lookin’ fer de gizzard-eater.’

“Brer Yalligater ain’t say nothin’; he des slide thoo de water, an’ lissen ter what Brer Rabbit sayin’. Brer Rabbit ’low, sezee, ‘De las’ time I wuz tooken sick, de doctor come in a hurry, an’ he sot up wid me all night--not a wink er sleep did dat man git. He say he kin tell by de way I wuz gwine on, rollin’ an’ tossin’, an’ moanin’ an’ groanin’, dat dey wa’n’t no physic gwineter do me no good. I ain’t never see no doctor scratch his head like dat doctor did; he done like he wuz stumped, he sho’ did. He say he ain’t never see nobody wid my kind er trouble, an’ he went off an’ call in one er his brer doctors, an’ de two knock dey heads tergedder, an’ say my trouble all come fum havin’ a double gizzard. When my ol’ ’oman hear dat, she des flung her apron over her head, an’ fell back in a dead faint, an’ a little mo’ an’ I’d ’a’ had ter pay a doctor bill on her accounts. When she squalled, some er my chillun got skeer’d an’ tuck ter de woods, an’ dey ain’t all got back when I lef’ home las’ night.’

“Brer Yalligater, he des went a-slippin’ long thoo de water; he lissen, but he ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Brer Rabbit, he ’low, sezee, ‘It’s de fatal trufe, all dis dat I’m a-tellin’ you. De doctor, he flew’d roun’ twel he fotch my ol’ ’oman to, an’ den he say dey ain’t no needs ter be skittish on accounts er my havin’ a double gizzard, kaze all I had ter do wuz ter be kinder keerful wid my chawin’s an’ gnyawin’s, an’ my comin’s an’ gwines. He say dat I’d hatter suffer wid it twel I fin’ de gizzard-eater. I ax ’im whar bouts is he, an’ he say dat I’d know him when I seed him, an’ ef I fail ter know ’im, he’ll make hisse’f beknown ter me. Dis kinder errytate me, kaze when a man’s a doctor, an’ is got de idee er kyoin’ anybody, dey ain’t no needs ter deal in no riddles. But he say dat tain’t no use fer ter tell all you know, speshually fo’ dinner.’

“Brer Yalligater went a-slidin’ long thoo de water; he lissen an’ smack his mouf, but he ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Brer Rabbit, he talk on; he ’low, sezee, ‘An dey wuz one thing he tol’ me mo’ plainer dan all de rest. He say dat when anybody wuz ’flicted wid de double gizzard, dey dassent cross water wid it, kaze ef dey’s anything dat a double gizzard won’t stan’ it’s de smell er water.’

“Brer Yalligater went slippin’ long thoo de water, but he feel like de time done come when he bleeze ter say sump’n. He say, sezee, ‘How come youer crossin’ water now, ef de doctor tell you dat?’ Dis make Brer Rabbit laugh; he ’low, ‘Maybe I oughtn’t ter tell you, but fo’ I kin cross water dat double gizzard got ter come out. De doctor done tol’ me dat ef she ever smell water, dey’ll be sech a swellin’ up dat my skin won’t hol’ me; an’ no longer dan’ las’ night, ’fo’ I come ter dis creek--’twuz a creek den, whatsomever you may call it now--I tuck out my double gizzard an’ hid it in a hick’ry holler. An’ ef youer de gizzard-eater, now is yo’ chance, kaze ef you put it off, you may rue de day. Ef youer in de notion I’ll take you right dar an’ show you de stump whar I hid it at--er ef you wanter be lonesome ’bout it, I’ll let you go by yo’se’f an’ I’ll stay right here.’

“Brer Yalligater, he slip an’ slide thoo de water. He say, sezee, ‘Whar’d you say you’d stay?’ Brer Rabbit ’low, sezee, ‘I’ll stay right here, Brer ’Gater, er anywhar’s else you may choosen; I don’t keer much whar I stays er what I does, so long ez I get rid er dat double gizzard what’s been a-tarrifyin’ me. You better go by yo’se’f, kaze bad ez dat double gizzard is done me, I got a kinder tendersome feelin’ fer it, an’ I’m fear’d ef I wuz ter go ’long wid you, an’ see you grab it, dey’d be some boo-hooin’ done. Ef you go by yo’se’f, des rap on de stump an’ say--_Ef youer ready, I’m ready an’ a little mo’ so_, un’ you won’t have no trouble wid her. She’s hid right in dem woods yander, an’ de holler hick’ry stump ain’t so mighty fur fum whar de bank er de creek oughter be.’

“Brer ’Gater ain’t got much mo’ sense dan what it ’ud take fer ter clim’ a fence atter somebody done pulled it down, an’ so he kinder slew’d hisse’f aroun’, an’ steered fer de woods--de same woods whar dey’s so many trees, an’ whar ol’ Sis Owl starts all de whirl-win’s by fannin’ her wings. Brer Yalligater swum an’ steered, twel he come close ter lan’, an’ when he done dat Brer Rabbit make a big jump an’ lan’ on solid ground. He mought er got his feet wet, but ef he did ’twuz ez much. He ’low, sezee--

_“‘You po’ ol’ ’Gater, ef you know’d A fum Izzard,_
_You’d know mighty well dat I’d keep my Gizzard.’_

An’ wid dat, he wuz done gone--done clean gone!”

XV

BROTHER RABBIT AND MISS NANCY

One day, when Uncle Remus had told one of the stories that have already been set forth, the little boy was unusually thoughtful. He had asked his mother whether there was ever a time when the animals acted and talked like people, and she, without reflecting, being a young and an impulsive woman, had answered most emphatically in the negative. Now, this little boy was shrewder than he was given credit for being, and he knew that neither his grandmother nor Uncle Remus would set great store by what his mother said. How he knew this would be difficult to explain, but he knew it all the same. Therefore, when he interjected a doubt as to the truth of the tales, he kept the name of his authority to himself.

“Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, “how do you know that the tales you tell are true? Couldn’t somebody make them up?”

The old man looked at the little child, and knew who had sown the seeds of doubt in his mind, and the knowledge made him groan and shake his head. “Maybe you think I done it, honey, but ef you does, de sooner you fergit it off’n yo’ min’, de better fer you, kaze I’d set here an’ dry up an’ blow way ’fo’ I kin tell a tale er my own make-up; an’ ef dey’s anybody deze days what kin make um up, I’d like fer ter snuggle up ter ’im, an’ ax ’im ter l’arn me how.”

“Do you really believe the animals could talk?” asked the child.

“What diffunce do it make what I b’lieve, honey? Ef dey kin talk in dem days, er ef dey can’t, b’lievin’ er not b’lievin’ ain’t gwineter he’p matters. Ol’ folks what live in dem times dey say de creeturs kin talk, kaze dey done talk wid um, an’ dey tell it ter der chillun an’ der chillun tell it ter der chillun right on down ter deze days. So den what you gwineter do ’bout it--b’lieve dem what had it fum de ol’ folks dat know’d, er dem what ain’t never hear nothin’ ’tall about it twel dey git it second han’ fum a ol’ nigger man?”

The child perceived that Uncle Remus was hitting pretty close to home, as the saying is, and he said nothing for a while. “I haven’t said that I don’t believe them,” he remarked presently.

“Ef you said it, honey, you ain’t say it whar I kin hear you, but I take notice dat you hol’ yo’ head on one side an’ kinder wrinkle yo’ face up when I tell deze tales. Ef you don’t b’lieve um, tain’t no mo’ use fer me ter tell um dan ’tis fer me ter fly.”

“My face always wrinkles when I laugh, Uncle Remus.”

“An’ when you cry,” responded the old man so promptly that the child laughed, though he hardly knew what he was laughing at.

“I’m gwineter tell you one now,” remarked Uncle Remus, wiping a smile from his face with the back of his hand, “an’ you kin take it er leave it, des ez you please. Ef you see anything wrong in it anywhar, you kin p’int it out ez we go ’long. I been tellin’ you dat Brer Rabbit wuz a heap bigger in dem days dan what he is now. It looks like de fambly done run ter seed, an’ I bet you dat ninety-nine thousan’ year fum dis ve’y day, de Rabbit-tum-a-hash crowd won’ be bigger dan fiel’-mice--I bet you dat. He wa’n’t only bigger, but he wuz mighty handy ’bout a farm, when he tuck a notion, speshually ef Mr. Man had any greens in his truck-patch. Well, one time, times wuz so hard dat he hatter hire out fer his vittles an’ cloze. He had de idee dat he wuz gittin’ a mighty heap fer de work he done, an Mr. Man tell his daughter dat he gittin’ Brer Rabbit mighty cheap. Dey wuz bofe satchified, an’ when dat’s de case, eve’ybody else oughter be satchified. Brer Rabbit kin hoe taters, an’ chop cotton, an’ fetch up breshwood, an’ split de kindlin, an’ do right smart.

“He say ter hisse’f, Brer Rabbit did, dat ef he ain’t gittin’ no money an’ mighty few cloze, he boun’ he’d have a plenty vittles. De fust week er two, he ain’t cut up no shines; he wuz gittin’ usen ter de place. He stuck ter his work right straight along twel Mr. Man say he one er de bes’ han’s on de whole place, an’ he tell his daughter dat she better set ’er cap fer Brer Rabbit. De gal she toss her head an’ make a mouf, but all de samey she ’gun ter cas’ sheep eyes at ’im.

“One fine day, when de sun shinin’ mighty hot, Brer Rabbit ’gun ter git mighty hongry. He say he want some water. Mr. Man say, ‘Dar de bucket, an’ yan’ de spring. Eve’ything fix so you kin git water monstus easy.’ Brer Rabbit git de water, but still dey wuz a gnyawin’ in his stomach, an’ bimeby he say he want some bread. Mr. Man say, ’Tain’t been so mighty long sense you had brekkus, but no matter ’bout dat. Yan’s de house, in de house you’ll fin’ my daughter, an’ she’ll gi’ you what bread you want.’

“Wid dat Brer Rabbit put out fer de house, an’ dar he fin’ de gal. She say, ‘La, Brer Rabbit, you oughter be at work, but stidder dat here you is at de house. I hear pap say dat youer mighty good worker, but ef dis de way you does yo’ work, I dunner what make ’im sesso.’ Brer Rabbit say, ‘I’m here, Miss Nancy, kaze yo’ daddy sont me.’ Miss Nancy ’low, ‘Ain’t you ’shame er yo’se’f fer ter talk dat a-way? You know pap ain’t sont you.’ Brer Rabbit say, ‘Yassum, he did,’ an’ den he smole one er deze yer lopsided smiles. Miss Nancy kinder hang ’er head an’ low, ‘Stop lookin’ at me so brazen.’ Brer Rabbit stood dar wid his eyes shot, an’ he ain’t say nothin’. Miss Nancy say, ‘Is you gone ter sleep? You oughter be ’shame fer ter drap off dat a-way whar dey’s ladies.’

“Brer Rabbit make a bow, he did, an’ ’low, ‘You tol’ me not ter look at you, an’ ef I ain’t ter look at you, I des ez well ter keep my eyes shot.’ De gal she giggle an’ say Brer Rabbit oughtn’t ter make fun er her right befo’ her face an’ eyes. She ax what her pap sont ’im fer, an’ he ’low dat Mr. Man sont ’im for a dollar an’ a half, an’ some bread an’ butter. Miss Nancy say she don’t b’lieve ’im, an’ wid dat she run down todes de fiel’ whar her pa wuz workin’ an’ holler at ’im--‘Pap! Oh, pap!’ Mr. Man make answer, ‘Hey?’ an’ de gal say, ‘Is you say what Brer Rabbit say you say?’ Mr. Man he holler back dat dat’s des what he say, an’ Miss Nancy she run back ter der house, an’ gi’ Brer Rabbit a dollar an’ a half an’ some bread an’ butter.

“Time passed, an’ eve’y once in a while Brer Rabbit’d go ter de house endurin’ de day, an’ tell Miss Nancy dat her daddy say fer ter gi’ ’im money an’ some bread an’ butter. An’ de gal, she’d go part er de way ter whar Mr. Man is workin’, an’ holler an’ ax ef he sesso, an’ Mr. Man ’d holler back, ‘Yes, honey, dat what I say.’ It got so atter while dat dey ain’t so mighty much money in de house, an’ ’bout dat time, Miss Nancy, she had a beau, which he useter come ter see her eve’y Sunday, an’ sometimes Sat’day, an’ it got so, atter while, dat she won’t skacely look at Brer Rabbit.

“Dis make ’im laugh, an’ he kinder studied how he gwineter git even wid um, kaze de beau got ter flingin’ his sass roun’ Brer Rabbit, an’ de gal, she’d giggle, ez gals will. But Brer Rabbit des sot dar, he did, an’ chaw his terbacker, an’ spit in de fier. But one day Mr. Man hear ’im talkin’ ter hisse’f whiles deyer workin’ in de same fiel’, and he ax Brer Rabbit what he say. Brer Rabbit ’low dat he des try in’ fer ter l’arn a speech what he hear a little bird say, an’ wid dat he went on diggin’ in de groun’ des like he don’t keer whedder anything happen er not. But dis don’t satchify Mr. Man, an’ he ax Brer Rabbit what de speech is. Brer Rabbit ’low dat de way de little bird say it dey ain’t no sense ter it fur ez he kin see. But Mr. Man keep on axin’ ’im what ’tis, an’ bimeby he up an’ ’low, ‘De beau kiss de gal an’ call her honey; den he kiss her ag’in, an’ she gi’ im de money.’

“Mr. Man say, ‘Which money?’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘Youer too much fer me. Dey tells me dat money’s money, no matter whar you git it, er how you git it. Ef de little bird wa’n’t singin’ a song, den I’m mighty much mistooken.’ But dis don’ make Mr. Man feel no better dan what he been feelin’. He went on workin’, but all de time de speech dat de little bird made wuz runnin’ in his min’:

_“De beau kiss de gal, an’ call her honey;_
_Den he kiss her ag’in, an’ she gi’ ’im de money.”_

“He keep on sayin’ it over in his min’, an’ de mo’ he say it de mo’ it worry him. Dat night when he went home, de beau wuz dar, an’ he wuz mo’ gayly dan ever. He flung sass at Brer Rabbit, an Brer Rabbit des sot dar an’ chaw his terbacker, an’ spit in de fier. Den Mr. Man went ter de place whar he keep his money, an’ he fin’ it mos’ all gone. He come back, he did, an’ he say, ‘Whar my money?’ De gal, she ain’t wanter have no words ’fo’ her beau, an’ ’spon’, ‘You know whar ’tis des ez well ez I does,’ an’ de man say, ‘I speck youer right ’bout dat, an’ sence I does, I want you ter pack up an’ git right out ter dis house an’ take yo’ beau wid you.’ An’ so dar ’twuz.

“De gal, she cry some, but de beau muched her up, an’ dey went off an’ got married, an’ Mr. Man tuck all his things an’ move off somers, I dunner whar, an’ dey wa’n’t nobody lef’ in dem neighberhoods but me an’ Brer Rabbit.”

“You and Brother Rabbit?” cried the little boy.

“Dat’s what I said,” replied Uncle Remus. “Me an’ Brer Rabbit. De gal, she tol’ her chillun ’bout how Brer Rabbit had done her an’ her pa, an’ fum dat time on, deyer been persooin’ on atter him.”

XVI

THE HARD-HEADED WOMAN

Uncle Remus had observed a disposition on the part of the little boy to experiment somewhat with his elders. The child had come down to the plantation from the city such a model youngster that those who took an interest in his behavior, and who were themselves living the free and easy life possible only in the country places, were inclined to believe that he had been unduly repressed. This was particularly the case with the little fellow’s grandmother, who was aided and abetted by Uncle Remus himself, with the result that the youngster was allowed liberties he had never had before. The child, as might be supposed, was quick to take advantage of such a situation, and was all the time trying to see how far he could go before the limits of his privileges--new and inviting so far as he was concerned--would be reached. They stretched very much farther on the plantation than they would have done in the city, as was natural and proper, but the child, with that adventurous spirit common to boys, was inclined to push them still farther than they had ever yet gone; and he soon lost the most obvious characteristics of a model lad.

Little by little he had pushed his liberties, the mother hesitating to bring him to task for fear of offending the grandmother, whose guest she was, and the grandmother not daring to interfere, for the reason that it was at her suggestion, implied rather than direct, that the mother had relaxed her somewhat rigid discipline. It was natural, under the circumstances, that the little fellow should become somewhat wilful and obstinate, and he bade fair to develop that spirit of disobedience that will make the brightest child ugly and discontented.

Uncle Remus, as has been said, observed all these symptoms, and while he had been the first to deplore the system that seemed to take all the individuality out of the little fellow, he soon became painfully aware that something would have to be done to renew the discipline that had been so efficacious when the mother was where she felt free to exercise her whole influence.

“You ain’t sick, is you, honey?” the old man inquired one day in an insinuating tone. “Kaze ef you is, you better run back ter de house an’ let de white folks dose you up. Yo’ mammy knows des ’zackly de kinder physic you need, an’ how much, an’ ef I ain’t mighty much mistooken, ’twon’t be so mighty long ’fo’ she’ll take you in han’.” The child looked up quickly to see whether Uncle Remus was in earnest, but he could find nothing in that solemn countenance that at all resembled playfulness. “You may be well,” the old man went on, “but dey’s one thing certain an’ sho’--you don’t look like you did when you come ter we-all’s house, an’ you don’t do like you done. You may look at me ef you wanter, but I’m a-tellin’ you de fatal trufe, kaze you ain’t no mo’ de same chil’ what useter ’ten’ ter his own business all day an’ night--you ain’t no mo’ de same chil’ dan I’m dat ol’ hen out dar. I ’low’d I mought be mistooken, but I hear yo’ granny an’ yo’ mammy talkin’ t’er night atter you done gone ter bed, an’ de talk dat dey talked sho’ did open my eyes, kaze I never spected fer ter hear talk like dat.”

For a long time the little boy said nothing, but finally he inquired what Uncle Remus had heard. “I ain’t no eavesdrapper,” the old man replied, “but I hear ’nough fer ter last me whiles you stay wid us. I dunner how long dat’ll be, but I don’t speck it’ll be long. Now des look at you! Dar you is fumblin’ wid my shoe knife, an’ mos’ ’fo’ you know it one een’ er yo’ finger will be down dar on de flo’, an’ you’ll be a-squallin’ like somebody done killt you. Put it right back whar you got it fum. Why n’t you put it down when I ax you?--an’ don’t scatter my pegs! Put down dat awl! You’ll stob yo’se’f right in de vitals, an’ den Miss Sally will blame me. Laws-a-massy! take yo’ han’ outer dat peg box! You’ll git um all over de flo’, an’ dey’ll drap thoo de cracks. I be boun’ ef I take my foot in my han’, an’ go up yan’ an’ tell yo’ mammy how good you is, she’ll make you take off yo’ cloze an’ go ter bed--dat’s des ’zackly what she’ll do. An’ dar you is foolin’ wid my fillin’s!--an’, bless gracious, ef you ain’t settin’ right flat-footed on my shoemaker’s wax, an’ it right saft! I’ll hatter ax yo’ mammy ter please’m not let you come down here no mo’ twel de day you start home!”

“I think you are very cross,” complained the child. “I never heard you talk that way before. And grandmother is getting so she isn’t as nice as she used to be.”

“Ah-yi!” exclaimed Uncle Remus in a triumphant tone. “I know’d it! you done got so dat you won’t do a blessed thing dat anybody ax you ter do. You done got a new name, an’ ’tain’t so new but what I can put bofe han’s behime one, an’ shet my eyes an’ call it out. Eve’ybody on de place know what ’tis, an’ I hear de ol’ red rooster callin’ it out de yuther day when you wuz chunkin’ at ’im.” At once the little boy manifested interest in what the old negro was saying, and when he looked up, curiosity shone in his eyes. “What did the rooster say my name is, Uncle Remus?”

“Why, when you wuz atter him, he flew’d up on de lot fence, an’ he ’low, ‘Mr. Hardhead! Mr. Hardhead!’ an’ dat sho’ is yo’ name. You kin squirm, an’ frown, an’ twis’, but dat rooster is sho’ got yo’ name down fine. Ef he’d ’a’ des named you once, maybe folks would ’a’ fergot it off’n der min’, but he call de name twice des ez plain ez he kin speak, an’ dar you sets wid Mr. Hardhead writ on you des ez plain ez ef de rooster had a put it on you wid a paint-brush. You can’t rub it off an’ you can’t walk roun’ it.”

“But what must I do, Uncle Remus?”

“Des set still a minnit, an’ try ter be good. It may th’ow you in a high fever fer ter keep yo’ han’s outer my things, er it may gi’ you a agur fer ter be like you useter be, but it’ll pay you in de long run; it mos’ sholy will.”

“Well, if you want me to be quiet,” said the child, “you’ll have to tell me a tale.”

“Ef you sit still too long, honey, I’m afeard de creeturs on de plantation will git de idee dat sump’n done happen. Dar’s de ol’ sow--you ain’t run her roun’ de place in de last ten minnits er sech a matter; an’ dar’s de calf, an’ de chickens, an’ de Guinny hens, an’ de ol’ gray gooses--dey’ll git de idee dat you done broke yo’ leg er yo’ arm; an’ dey’ll be fixin’ up fer ter have a frolic if dey miss you fer longer dan fifteen minnits an’ a half. How you gwineter have any fun ef you set an’ lissen ter a tale stidder chunkin’ an’ runnin’ de creeturs? I mos’ know you er ailin’ an’ by good rights de doctor oughter come an’ look at you.”

The little boy laughed uneasily. He was not the first that had been sobered by the irony of Uncle Remus, which, crude though it was, was much more effective than downright quarreling. “Yasser!” Uncle Remus repeated, “de doctor oughter come an’ look at you--an’ when I say doctor, I mean doctor, an’ not one er deze yer kin’ what goes roun’ wid a whole passel er pills what ain’t bigger dan a gnat’s heart. What you want is a great big double-j’inted doctor wid a big black beard an’ specks on, what’ll fill you full er de rankest kin’ er physic. Ez you look now, you put me in min’ er de ’oman an’ de dinner-pot; dey ain’t no two ways ’bout dat.”

“If it is a tale, please tell it, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy.

“Oh, it sho is a tale all right!” exclaimed the old man, “but you ain’t no mo’ got time fer ter hear it dan de birds in de tree. You’d hatter set still an’ lissen, an’ dat ’ud put you out a whole lot, kaze dar’s de chickens ter be chunked, an’ de pigs ter be crippled an’ a whole lot er yuther things fer ter be did, an’ dey ain’t nobody else in de roun’ worl’ dat kin do it ez good ez you kin. Well, you kin git up an’ mosey long ef you wanter, but I’m gwineter tell dish yer tale ef I hatter r’ar my head back an’ shet my eyeballs an’ tell it ter myse’f fer ter see ef I done fergit it off’n my min’.

“Well, once ’pon a time--it mought ’a’ been in de year One fer all I know--dey wuz a ’oman dat live in a little cabin in de woods not so mighty fur fum water. Now, dis ’oman an’ dis cabin mought ’a’ been in de Nunited State er Georgy, er dey mought ’a’ been in de Nunited State er Yallerbammer--you kin put um whar you please des like I does. But at one place er de yuther, an’ at one time er nuther, dis ’oman live dar des like I’m a-tellin’ you. She live dar, she did, an’ fus’ an’ las’ dey wuz a mighty heap er talk about her. Some say she wuz black, some say she wuz mighty nigh white, an’ some say she wa’n’t ez black ez she mought be; but dem what know’d, dey say she wuz nine parts Injun an’ one part human, an’ I speck dat’s des ez close ter trufe ez we kin git in dis kinder wedder ef we gwineter keep cool.

“Fum all I kin hear--an’ I been keepin’ bofe years wide open, she wuz a monstus busy ’oman, kaze it wuz de talk ’mongst de neighbors dat she done a heap er things what she ain’t got no business ter do. She had a mighty bad temper, an’ her tongue wuz a-runnin’ fum mornin’ twel night. Folks say dat ’twuz long an’ loud an’ mighty well hung. Dey lissen an’ shake der head, an’ atter while word went roun’ dat de ’oman done killt her daughter. Ez ter dat, I ain’t never is hear de rights un it; she mought, an’ den ag’in she moughtn’t--dey ain’t no tellin’--but dey wuz one thing certain an’ sho’ she done so quare, dat folks say she cut up des like a Friday-born fool.

“Her ol’ man, he done de best dat he could. He went ’long an’ ten’ ter his own business, an’ when her tongue ’gun ter clack, he sot down an’ made fish-baskets, an’ ax-helves. But dat ain’t make no diffunce ter de ’oman, kaze she wuz one deze yer kin’ what could quoil all day whedder dey wuz anybody fer ter quoil at er not. She quoiled an’ she quoiled. De man, he ain’t say nothin’ but dis des make her quoil de mo’. He split up kin’lin’ an’ chopped up wood, an’ still she quoil’; he fotch home meal an’ he fotch home meat, but still she quoil’. An’ she ’fuse fer ter cook what he want her to cook; she wuz hard-headed des like you, an’ she’d have her own way ef she died fer it.

“Ef de man, he say, ‘Please ’m cook me some grits,’ she’d whirl in an’ bile greens; ef he ax fer fried meat, she’d bake him a hoe-cake er corn bread. Ef he want roas’ tater she’d bile him a mess er beans, an’ all de time, she’d be givin’ ’im de wuss kinder sass. Oh, she wuz a honey! An’ when it come ter low-down meanness, she wuz rank an’ ripe. She’d take de sparrer-grass what he fotch, an’ kindle de fire wid it. She’d burn de spar’-ribs an’ scorch de tripe, an’ she’d do eve’y kinder way but de right way, an’ dat she wouldn’t do, not ter save yo’ life.

“Well, dis went on an’ went on, an’ de man ain’t make no complaints; he des watch an’ wait an’ pray. But atter so long a time, he see dat dat ain’t gwine ter do no good, an’ he tuck an’ change his plans. He spit in de ashes, he did, an’ he make a cross-mark, an’ turn roun’ twice so he kin face de sunrise. Den he shuck a gourd-vine flower over de pot, an’ sump’n tol’ ’im fer ter take his res’ an’ wait twel de moon come up. All dis time de ’oman, she wuz a quoilin’, but bimeby, she went on ’bout her business, an’ de man had some peace; but not fer long. He ain’t no more dan had time fer ter put some thunderwood buds an’ some calamus-root in de pot, dan here she come, an’ she come a-quoilin’. She come in she did, an’ she slam things roun’ des like you slams de gate.

“Atter kickin’ up a rippet, an’ makin’ de place hot ez she kin, de ’oman made a big fire un’ de pot, an’ flew’d roun’ dar des like she tryin’ fer ter cook a sho’ ’nough supper. She made some dumplin’s an’ flung um in de pot; den she put in some peas an’ big pods er red pepper, an’ on top er all she flung a sheep’s head. De man, he sot dar, an’ look straight at de cross-mark what he done made in de ashes. Atterwhile, he ’gun to smell de calamus-root a-cookin’ an’ he know’d by dat, dat sump’n wuz gwineter happen.

“De pot, it biled, an’ biled, an’ fus’ news you know, de sheep’s head ’gun ter butt de dumplin’s out, an’ de peas, dey flew’d out an’ rattled on de flo’ like a bag er bullets done busted. De ’oman, she run fer ter see what de matter is, an’ when she got close ter de pot de steam fum de thunderwood hit her in de face an’ eyes an’ come mighty nigh takin’ her breff away. Dis kinder stumped ’er fer a minnit, but she had a temper big ’nough fer ter drag a bull down, an’ all she had ter do when she lose her breff wuz ter fling her han’s in de a’r an’ fetch a snort, an’ dar she wuz.

“She moughter been mad befo’, but dis time she wuz mighty nigh plum’ crazy. She look at de pot, an’ she look at her ol’ man; she shot her eyeballs an’ clinched her han’s; she yerked off her head-hankcher, an’ pulled her ha’r loose fum de wroppin’-strings; she stomped her foot, an’ smashed her toofies tergedder.

“She railed at de pot; she ’low, ‘What ail you, you black Dickunce? I b’lieve youer de own brer ter de Ol’ Boy! You been foolin’ wid me fer de longest, an’ I ain’t gwine ter put up wid it! I’m gwineter tame you down!’ Wid dat, she flung off de homespun sack what she been w’arin’ an’ run outer de house an’ got de ax.

“Her ol’ man say, ‘Whar you gwine, honey?’ She ’low, ‘I’m a gwine whar I’m a gwine, dat’s whar I’m a gwine!’ De man, he ain’t spon’ ter dat kinder talk, an’ de ’oman, she went out in back yard fer ter hunt fer de ax. Look like she gwineter keep on gittin’ in trouble, kaze de ax wuz on top er de wood what de man done pile up out dar. It wuz layin’ up dar, de ax wuz, des ez slanchendicklar ez you please, but time it see her comin’----”

“But, Uncle Remus!” the child exclaimed, “how could the ax see her?”

The old negro looked at the little boy with an expression of amazed pity on his face. He looked all around the room and then raised his eyes to the rafters, where a long cobweb was swaying slowly in a breeze so light that nothing else would respond to its invitation. Then he sighed and closed his eyes. “I wish yo’ pa wuz here right now, I mos’ sholy does--yo’ pa, what useter set right whar youer settin’! You done been raised in town whar dey can’t tell a ax fum a wheelbarrer. Ax ain’t got no eye! Well, whoever is hear de beat er dat! Ef anybody else is got dat idee, I’ll be much erbleege ef you’ll show um ter me. Here you is mighty nigh big ’nough fer eat raw tater widout havin’ de doctor called in, an’ a-settin’ dar sayin’ dat axes ain’t got no eyes. Well, you ax yo’ gran’ma when you go back ter de house an’ see what she say.

“Now, le’ me see; wharbouts wuz I at? Oh, yes! De ax wuz on top er woodpile, an’ when it seed de ’oman comin’, it des turned loose an’ slip down on de yuther side. It wa’n’t tryin’ fer ter show off, like I’ve seed some folks ’fo’ now; it des turned loose eve’ything an’ fell down on de yuther side er de woodpile. An’ whiles de ’oman wuz gwin roun’ atter it, de ax, it clum back on top er de woodpile an’ fell off on t’er side. Dem what handed de tale down ter me ain’t say how long de ’oman an’ de ax keep dis up, but ef a ax is got eyes, it ain’t got but one leg, an’ it must not ’a’ been so mighty long ’fo’ de ’oman cotch up wid it--an’ when she did she wuz so mad dat she could ’a’ bit a railroad track in two, ef dey’d ’a’ been one anywhar’s roun’ dar.