VII
HOW OLD CRANEY-CROW LOST HIS HEAD
One day, while Uncle Remus was preparing some wild cherry bark for a decoction which he took for his rheumatism, the little boy, who was an interested spectator of the proceedings, chanced to hear a noise overhead. Looking up, he saw a very large bird flying over. He immediately called the attention of Uncle Remus to the bird, which was indeed a singular-looking creature. Its long neck stretched out in front, and its long legs streamed out behind. Its wings were not very large, and it had no tail to speak of, but it flew well and rapidly, apparently anxious to reach its destination in the shortest possible time.
Uncle Remus shaded his eyes with his right hand as he gazed upward at the bird. “Laws-a-mussy!” he exclaimed; “is dey anybody yever see de beat er dat!” He knew well that the bird was a blue heron going to join its kindred in Florida, but he affected great surprise at sight of the bird, and continued to gaze at it as long as it remained in sight. He drew a long breath when it could no longer be seen, and shook his head sadly. “Ef she ain’t got no mo’ sense dan what her great-grandaddy had, I’m mighty sorry fer her,” he declared.
“What kind of a bird is it, Uncle Remus?” the child inquired.
“Folks useter call um Craney-Crows, honey, but now dey ain’t got no name but des plain blue crane—an’ I dunner whedder dey er wuff sech a big name. Yit I ain’t got nothin’ ag’in um dat I knows un. Mo’ dan dat, when I ermembers ’bout de ol’ grandaddy crane what drifted inter deze parts, many’s de long time ago, ’twouldn’t take much fer ter make me feel right sorry fer de whole kit an’ bilin’ un um—dey er sech start natchul fools.”
“But what is there to be sorry about, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked. He was rapidly learning to ask questions at the proper time.
“’Bout dey havin’ sech a little grain er sense, honey. Ef you know’d what I does, I dunner ef you’d be tickled, er ef you’d feel sorry, an’ it’s de same way wid me. When I think er dat ol’ Great-Grandaddy Crane, I dunner whedder ter laugh er cry.”
This was small satisfaction to the little boy, and he was compelled to inquire about it. As this was precisely what the old negro wanted him to do, he lost nothing by being inquisitive. “Dey wuz one time—I dunno de day, an’ I dunno de year, but ’twuz one time—dey come a big storm. De win’ blow’d a harrycane, an’ de rain rained like all de sky an’ de clouds in it done been turn ter water. De win’ blow’d so hard dat it lifted ol’ Craney-Crow fum his roost in de lagoons way down yan’ whar dey live at, an’ fotch ’im up in deze parts, an’ when he come, he come a-whirlin’. De win’ tuck ’im up, it did, an’ turn ’im roun’ an’ roun’, an’ when he lit whar he did, he stagger des like he wuz drunk—you know how you feel when you been turnin’ roun’ an’ roun’. Well, dat wuz de way wid him; he wuz so drunk dat he hatter lean up ag’in a tree.
“But ’twant long ’fo’ he ’gun ter feel all right, an’ he look roun’ fer ter see whar he at. He look an’ he look, but he ain’t fin’ out, kaze he wuz a mighty fur ways fum home. Yit he feel de water half-way up his legs, an’ ef ol’ Craney-Crow is in a place whar he kin do a little wadin’, he kinder has de home-feelin’—you know how dat is yo’se’f. Well, dar he wuz, a mighty fur ways fum home, an’ yit up ter his knees in water, an’ he des stood dar, he did, an’ tuck his ease, hopin’ fer better times bimeby. Now, de place whar he wuz blow’d ter wuz Long Cane Swamp, an’ I wish I had time fer ter take you over dar an’ show you right whar he wuz at when he lit, an’ I wish I had time fer ter take you all thoo de Swamp an’ let you see fer yo’se’f what kinder Thing it is. ’Tain’t only des a Swamp; it’s sump’n wuss ’n dat. You kin stan’ in de middle un it, an’ mos’ hear it ketch its breff, an’ dat what make I say dat ’tain’t no Swamp, fer all it look like one.