“Was he a white man or a black man?” the little boy asked.
“I ’clar’ ter gracious, honey!” exclaimed the old man, “you er pushin’ me mos’ too close. Fer all I kin tell you, de man mout er bin ez w’ite ez de driven snow, er he mout er bin de blackes’ Affi’kin er de whole kit en bilin’. I’m des tellin’ you de tale, en you kin take en take de man en w’itewash ’im, er you kin black ’im up des ez you please. Dat’s de way I looks at it.
“Well, one time dey wuz a man, en dish yer man he had a mighty likely daughter. She wuz so purty dat she had mo’ beaus dan w’at you got fingers en toes. But de gal daddy, he got his spishuns ’bout all un um, en he won’t let um come ’roun’ de house. But dey kep’ on pesterin’ ’im so, dat bimeby he give word out dat de man w’at kin clear up six acres er lan’ en roll up de logs, en pile up de bresh in one day, dat man kin marry his daughter.
“In co’se, dis look like it unpossible, en all de beaus drap off ’ceppin’ one, en he wuz a great big strappin’ chap w’at look like he kin knock a steer down. Dis chap he wuz name Simon, en de gal, she wuz name Susanna. Simon, he love Susanna, en Susanna, she love Simon, en dar it went.
“Well, sir, Simon, he went ter de gal daddy, he did, en he say dat ef anybody kin clear up dat lan’, he de one kin do it, least’ways he say he gwine try mighty hard. De ole man, he grin en rub his han’s terge’er, he did, en tole Simon ter start in in de mornin’. Susanna, she makes out she wuz fixin’ sumpin in de cubberd, but she tuck ’n kiss ’er han’ at Simon, en nod ’er head. Dis all Simon want, en he went out er dar des ez happy ez a jay-bird atter he done robbed a sparrer-nes’.
“Now, den,” Uncle Remus continued, settling himself more comfortably in his chair, “dish yer man wuz a witch.”
“Why, I thought a witch was a woman,” said the little boy.
The old man frowned and looked into the fire.
“Well, sir,” he remarked with some emphasis, “ef you er gwine ter tu’n de man inter a ’oman, den dey won’t be no tale, kaze dey’s bleege ter be a man right dar whar I put dis un. Hit ’s des like I tole you ’bout de color er de man. Black ’im er whitewash ’im des ez you please, en ef you want ter put a frock on ’im ter boot, hit ain’t none er my business; but I’m gwine ter’low he wuz a man ef it’s de las’ ac’.”
The little boy remained silent, and Uncle Remus went on: