“Went off home des ez gayly ez a colt in a barley patch”
“Brer Rabbit slap hisse’f on de leg an’ laugh fit ter kill. He ain’t make fuss nuff fer ter wake Mr. Man, but he woke de fat hens an’ de slick pullets, an’ dey ax one an’er what de name er goodness is de matter. Brer Rabbit laugh an’ say ter hisse’f dat ef he’d ’a’ brung a bag, it’d make a good overcoat fer four er five er de fat hens, an’ six er sev’m er de slick pullets. Den he ’low, ‘Why, what is I thinkin’ ’bout? I got a bag in my han’, an’ I fergit dat I had it. It’s mighty lucky fer de chickens dat I fotch it, kaze a little mo’—an’ dey’d ’a’ been friz stiff!’ So he scoop in de bag ez many ez he kin tote. He ’low, ‘I’ll take um home an’ kinder git um warm, an’ ter-morrer Mr. Man kin have um back—ef he want um.’ an’ wid dat he mighty nigh choke hisse’f tryin’ fer ter keep fum laughin’. De chickens kinder flutter, but dey ain’t make much fuss, an’ Brer Rabbit flung de sack ’cross his shoulders an’ went off home des ez gayly ez a colt in a barley patch.”
“Wouldn’t you call that stealing, Uncle Remus?” inquired the little boy very seriously.
“Ef Brer Rabbit had ’a’ been folks, it’d be called stealin’, but you know mighty well dat de creeturs dunno de diffunce ’twix’ takin’ an’ stealin’. When it come ter dat, dey’s a-plenty folks dat ain’t know de diffunce, an’ how you gwineter blame de creeturs?” Uncle Remus paused to see what comment the little boy would make, but he was silent, though it is doubtful if he was satisfied.
“Brer Rabbit tuck de chickens on home, he did, an’ made way wid um. Now, dat wuz de las’ er de chickens, but des de beginnin’s er de feathers. Ol’ Miss Rabbit, she wanter burn um in de fier, but Brer Rabbit say de whole neighborhood would smell um, an’ he ’low dat he got a better way dan dat. So, nex’ mornin’ atter brekkus, he borried a bag fum ol’ Brer Wolf, an’ inter dis he stuff de feathers, an’ start off down de road.
“Well, suh, ez luck would have it, Brer Rabbit hatter pass by Brer Fox house, an’ who should be stannin’ at de gate wid his walkin’-cane in han’, but Brer Fox? Brer Fox, he fetched a bow, wid, ‘Brer Rabbit, whar you gwine?’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘Ef I had de win’, Brer Fox, I’d be gwine to mill. Dish yer’s a turrible load I got, an’ I dunner how soon I’ll gi’ out. I ain’t strong in de back an’ limber in de knees like I useter be, Brer Fox. You may be holdin’ yo’ own, an’ I hope you is, but I’m on de down grade, dey ain’t no two ways ’bout dat.’ Wid dat, he sot de bag down by de side er de road, an’ wipe his face wid his hankcher.
“‘Brer Rabbit, whar you gwine?’”
“Brer Fox, he come on whar Brer Rabbit wuz a-settin’ at, an’ ax ef it’s corn er wheat. Brer Rabbit ’low dat tain’t na’er one; it’s des some stuff dat he gwine ter sell ter de miller. Brer Fox, he want ter know what ’tis so bad he ain’t know what ter do, an’ he up an’ ax Brer Rabbit p’intedly. Brer Rabbit say he fear’d ter tell ’im kaze de truck what he got in de bag is de onliest way he kin make big money. Brer Fox vow he won’t tell nobody, an’ den Brer Rabbit say dat bein’ ez him an’ Brer Fox is sech good frien’s—neighbors, ez you might say—he don’t min’ tellin’ ’im, kaze he know dat atter Brer Fox done prommus, he won’t breave a word ’bout it. Den he say dat de truck what he got in de bag is roots er de Winniannimus grass, an’ when deyer groun’ up at de mill, dey er wuff nine dollars a poun’.