“Of him,” replied Sweetest Susan, nodding her head toward Mr. Rabbit.
“Is that all?” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows. “Why, he’s as harmless as a kitten.”
“Yes, yes!” said Mr. Rabbit complacently. “No harm in me—no harm in old people. Just give us a little room in the corner—a little place where we can sit and nod—and there’s no harm in us. I’m just as glad you’ve come as I can be. I see you’ve brought the Tar Baby. She’s grown some since I saw her last.” Mr. Rabbit looked at Drusilla with considerable curiosity. “I hope she’s not as sticky as she used to be.”
“Hey!” cried Buster John, laughing. “Mr. Rabbit thinks Drusilla is the Tar Baby!”
Drusilla tossed her head scornfully. “Huh! I ain’t no Tar Baby. I may be a nigger, an’ I speck I is, but I ain’t no Tar Baby. My mammy done tol’ me ’bout de Tar Baby in de tale, an’ she got it fum her gran’daddy. Ef I’m de Tar Baby, I’m older dan my mammy’s gran’daddy.”
Mr. Rabbit took off his spectacles and wiped them on his coat-tail. “My eyes are getting very bad,” he said, by way of apology. “But you certainly look very much like the Tar Baby. If you were both together in the dark, nobody could tell you apart. Well, well! I’m getting old.”
“You ain’t no older dan you look,” said Drusilla spitefully under her breath.
“Hush!” whispered Sweetest Susan. “He’ll eat us up.”
Mrs. Meadows laughed. “Don’t worry, child. Mr. Rabbit loves his pipe and a joke, but he’ll never hurt you. Never in the world.”
“But this isn’t in the world,” suggested Buster John.