“Mr. Rabbit cock up one eye, an’ see dat bofe er his long years done come out fum un’ de overcoat, an’ den he know dat he better be gwine. He make er break, he did, an’ bounced off’n de flatform, an’ start fer de bushes, but some er de yuther creeturs head ‘im off an’ kotched ‘im, an’ den dey tuck ‘im an’ tried ‘im, an’ de jedge what sot on ‘im say he mus’ have mark on ‘im so he can’t fool um no mo’. Den dey tuck er sharp flint rock an’ split his upper lip, an’ dat how de rabbits is got der lip split.”
“Shoo!” said Mink. “Dat Injun rabbit. Nigger rabbit would ‘a’ fooled dem creeturs right straight along, an’ he wouldn’t ’a’ bin cotch, nudder.”
“Jim,” said Mr. Pruitt to Mr. Wimberly, “would it strain you too much ter whirl in an’ tell us a tale? We wanter show this young un here that country folks hain’t ez no ’count ez they look ter be.”
“Jesso!” exclaimed Mr. Wimberly, with much animation. “I wuz jest a-thinkin’ about one that popped in my min’. It ain’t much of a tale, but it tickled me might’ly when I fust heard it, an’ I hain’t never fergot it.”
“Well,” said Mr. Pruitt, “out wi’ it. It ain’t nigh bedtime, an’ ef it wuz we hain’t got no beds ter go ter—that is, we hain’t got none ter speak of.”
“One time,” Mr. Wimberly began, smacking his lips, “there wuz a man what took the idee that he had done gone an’ larnt ever’ blessid thing under the sun that thar’ wuz ter larn, and it worried him might’ly. He took the idee wi’ ’im ever ’whar he went. Folks called ’im Ole Man Know-all. He sarched in ever’ hole an’ cornder arter sump’n that he didn’t know, but, hunt whar he would an’ when he might, he couldn’t fin’ it. It looked like he know’d ever’-thing ther’ wuz an’ had been. Nobody couldn’t tell ’im nothin’ that he didn’t know, an’ it made ’im feel mighty lonesome. He studied an’ studied, an’ at last he said ter hisse’f, sezee, that ef thar’ wan’t nothin’ more fer ’im ter larn, he jest might ez well lay down an’ die. He said ter hisse’f, sezee, that may be Grandsir Death could larn ’im sumpin. Jesso!
“Well, he went home one night an’ built ’im up a big fire an’ fixed his pallet an’ lay down. ‘I won’t lock the door,’ sezee; ‘I’ll jist leave it onlatched so Grandsir Death can come in, an’ maybe he can larn me sump’n.’ Jesso!
“Ole Man Know-all lay thar on the pallet an’ waited. He’d doze a little an’ then he’d wake up, an’ he rolled an’ tossed about tell purty nigh day. He wan’t oneasy, so to speak, but he wuz mighty restless. To’rds mornin’ he heard some un knock on his door—bam-bam! bam-bam! He wan’t skeered, but he got right weak. His mouth got dry, an’ a big holler place come in his stomach. He sez ter hisse’f, sezee, ‘Shorely that’s Grandsir Death at the door.’ Then he kivvered up his head an’ shuck all over. ’Twan’t long ’fo’ the knock come agin:
“Bim-bim! bim-bim! bim!
“Ole Man Know-all thought his time wuz done come, certain an’ shore, an’ so he hollered: