Without giving the little boy time to ask any questions, Uncle Remus added another verse to his Rabbit song, and harped on it for several minutes:
"O Mr. Rabbit! yo' year mighty long—
Yes, my Lord! dey made fer ter las';
O Mr. Rabbit! yo' toof mighty sharp—
Yes, my Lord! dey cuts down grass!"
LXIX
BROTHER FOX'S FISH-TRAP
The little boy wanted Uncle Remus to sing some more; but before the old man could either consent or refuse, the notes of a horn were heard in the distance. Uncle Remus lifted his hand to command silence, and bent his head in an attitude of attention.
"Des listen at dat!" he exclaimed, with some show of indignation. "Dat aint nothin' in de roun' worl' but ole man Plato wid dat tin hawn er his'n, en I boun' you he's a-drivin' de six mule waggin, en de waggin full er niggers fum de River place, en let 'lone dat, I boun' you deyer niggers strung out behime de waggin fer mo'n a mile, en deyer all er comin' yer fer ter eat us all out'n house en home, des 'kaze dey year folks say Chris'mus mos' yer. Hit 's mighty kuse unter me dat ole man Plato aint done toot dat hawn full er holes long 'fo' dis.
"Yit I aint blamin' um," Uncle Remus went on, with a sigh, after a little pause. "Dem ar niggers bin livin' 'way off dar on de River place whar dey aint no w'ite folks twel dey er done in about run'd wil'. I aint a-blamin' um, dat I aint."
Plato's horn—a long tin bugle—was by no means unmusical. Its range was limited, but in Plato's hands its few notes were both powerful and sweet. Presently the wagon arrived, and for a few minutes all was confusion, the negroes on the Home place running to greet the new-comers, who were mostly their relatives. A stranger hearing the shouts and outcries of these people would have been at a loss to account for the commotion.
Even Uncle Remus went to his cabin door, and, with the little boy by his side, looked out upon the scene,—a tumult lit up by torches of resinous pine. The old man and the child were recognized, and for a few moments the air was filled with cries of: