"B'er Rabbit bin hol' 'e head 'pon one side; 'e look skeer. 'E say:
"'Ki, B'er Lion! I no know da Pa'tridge is so bahd lak dat. I t'ink 'e fly 'way un no hu't-a you. Shuh-shuh! wun I see dem Pa'tridge I mus' git 'pon turrer side fer keep me hide whole.'
"Da Lion, 'e groan, 'e moan, 'e cry. B'er Rabbit, 'e say:
"'Da Pa'tridge, 'e berry bahd; 'e mus' bin borry da Buckra Màn gun.'
"Da Lion, 'e groan, 'e cry:
"''E no da Pa'tridge no'n 'tall. Da Buckra Màn is bin stan' way off un shoot-a me wit' 'e gun. Ow, ma Lord!'
"B'er Rabbit, 'e h'ist 'e han'; 'e say:
"'Wut I bin tell-a you, B'er Lion? Wut I bin tell you 'bout da Buckra Màn? Da Pa'tridge no hu't-a you lak dis. 'E mek-a da big fuss, but 'e no hu't-a you lak dis. Da Buckra Màn, 'e no mek no fuss 'cep' 'e p'int 'e gun at you—bang!'"
"And what then?" the little boy asked, as Daddy Jack collapsed in his seat, seemingly forgetful of all his surroundings.
"No'n 't all," replied the old African, somewhat curtly.