“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.