“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.