Daddy Jake the Runaway, and Short Stories Told after Dark

by Joel Chandler Harris

UNCLE REMUS’S WONDER STORY

There was one story that the little boy whom Uncle Remus delighted to entertain asked for with great regularity, perhaps because it has in it an element of witchcraft, and was as marvelous as it was absurd. Sometimes Uncle Remus pretended to resent this continued demand for the story, although he himself, like all the negroes, was very superstitious, and believed more or less in witches and witchcraft.

“Dat same ole tale,” he would say. “Well! well! well! W’en is we gwine ter year de las’ un it? I done tole you dat tale so much dat it make my flesh crawl, kaze I des know dat some er deze yer lonesome nights I’ll be a-settin’ up yer by de fier atter you done gone. I’ll be a-settin’ up yer dreamin’ ’bout gwine ter bed, en sumpin’ ’n’er ’ll come a-clawin’ at de do’, en I’ll up en ax, ‘Who dat?’ En dey’ll up en ’spon’, ‘Lemme in.’ En I’ll ondo de do’, en dat ole creetur’ll walk in, en dat’ll be de las’ er po’ ole Remus’ En den w’en dat come ter pass, who gwine take time fer ter tell you tales? Dat w’at I like ter know.”

The little boy, although he well knew that there were no witches, would treat this statement with gravity, as the story to him was as fascinating as one of the “Thousand and One Nights.”

“Well, Uncle Remus,” he would say, “just tell it this time!” Whereupon the old negro, with the usual preliminary flourishes, began:

“One time, ’way back yander, w’en de moon wuz lots bigger dan w’at she is now, dar wuz er ole Witch-Wolf livin’ ’way off in de swamp, en dish yer ole Witch-Wolf wuz up to ter all sorts er contrariness. Look like she wuz cross-ways wid de whole er creation. W’en she wa’n’t doin’ devilment, she wuz studyin’ up devilment. She had a mighty way, de ole Witch-Wolf did, dat w’en she git hungry she’d change ’erse’f ter be a ’oman. She could des shet ’er eye en smack ’er mouf, en stiddier bein’ a big black wolf, wid long claws en green eye-balls, she’d come ter be the likelies’ lookin’ gal dat you mos’ ever seed.

“It seem like she love ter eat folks, but’fo’ she kin eat urn she hatter marry um; en w’en she take a notion, she des change ’erse’f ter be a likely lookin’ gal, en sails in en git married. Den w’en she do dat, she des take en change ’erse’f back ter be a wolf, en eat um up raw. Go whar you kin, en whar you mout, en yit I don’t ’speck you kin fin’ any wuss creetur dan w’at dis ole Witch-Wolf wuz.

“Well, sir, at de same time w’en dis ole Witch-Wolf gwine on dis away, dey wuz a man livin’ in de neighborhood w’at she took a mighty notion fer ter marry. De man had lan’, but she ain’t want de lan’; de man had hosses, but she ain’t want de hosses; de man had cows, but she ain’t want de cows. She des nat’ally want de man hisse’f, kaze he mighty fat en nice.”

“Did she want to marry him, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked, as though the tale were true, as indeed it seemed to be while Uncle Remus was telling it and acting it.

“Tooby sho’, honey! Dat ’zactly w’at she want. She want ter marry ’im, en eat ’im up. Well, den, w’en she git eve’ything good en ready, she des tuck ’n back ’er years, en bat ’er eyes, en smack ’er mouf, and dar she wuz—a likely young gal! She up en got ter de lookin’-glass, she did, en swinge ’er ha’r wid de curlin’-tongs, en tie ribbons on ’er cloze, en fix up ’er beau-ketchers. She look nice, fit ter kill, now. Den she tuck ’n pass by de man house, en look back en snicker, en hol’ ’er head on one side, en sorter shake out ’er cloze, en put ’er han’ up fer ter see ef de ha’rpins in der place. She pass by dis away lots er times, en bimeby de man kotch a glimp’ un ’er; en no sooner is he do dis dan she wave her hankcher. De man he watch ’er en watch er, en bimeby, atter she kep’ on whippin’ by, he come out en hail ’er. En den she tuck ’n stop, en nibble at ’er fan en fumble wid ’er hankcher, en dey tuck ’n stan’ dar, dey did, en pass de time er day. Atter dat de sun never riz en set widout she hol’ some confab wid de man; en ’t want long ’fo’ de man took a notion dat she de very gal fer a wife, w’at he bin a-huntin’ fer. Wid dat dey des got right down ter ole-fashion courtin’. Dey’d laugh, dey’d giggle, dey ’d’spute, dey’d pout. You ain’t never seen folks a-courtin’, is you, honey?”