Told by Uncle Remus: New Stories of the Old Plantation

by Joel Chandler Harris

He saw nothing in the small countenance but curiosity. “What made you think of it?” was the question the child asked.

“Mos’ eve’ything I see make me think ’bout it, an’ you’ll think ’bout it you’se’f, when you come ter be ol’ ez what I is. But de reason it wuz runnin’ in my head dis time wuz kaze I start ter tell a tale widout knowin’ when de time wuz. I know it wuz ’way back yander, but de mont’ er de year I can’t tell, an’ when I try ter fix on de time eve’ything look dim an’ smoky, an’ I say ter myse’f dat dey mus’ be a fog in my mind.”

“Can’t you tell the story unless you can find out about the time?” inquired the little boy.

“Tooby sho’ I kin, honey; but you’d b’lieve it lots quicker ef you know’d what time it happen. ’Fo’ yo’ great-gran’ma died she had a trunk full er ollymenacks, an’ I boun’ you ef I had ’em here whar you could look at um, we wouldn’t have no trouble. I speck dey done got strow’d about endurin’ er de war time.

“Well, anyhow, once ’pon a time, when dey wuz mighty few folks in de worl’, ef any, Brer Deer fell in love wid ol’ King Sun’s daughter.” Having made this preliminary statement, Uncle Remus paused to see what effect it had on the child. Amazement and incredulity were written on the little boy’s face, observing which the old man smiled. “You nee’nter git de idee in yo’ head dat ol’ King Sun is like he wuz in dem days. No, bless you! He wuz des ez diffunt ez dem times wuz fum deze times, an’ when you git ter readin’ in de books you’ll fin’ out what de diffunce wuz. He wuz closer by, an’ he ain’t hide out at night like he does now. He wuz up in de sky, but he ain’t live ez high up; he wuz mo’ neighborly, ez you may say.

“He live so close by dat he useter sen’ de house-gal down ter de spring fer drinkin’-water. Three times a day she’d come ter fetch it; she’d clime down wid de bucket in her han’ an’ she’d clime back wid de bucket on her head, an’ she’d sing bofe ways, comin’ an’ gwine. In dem times dey all know’d dat ol’ King Sun had a daughter, but dey ain’t know what ’er name is; an’ dey know she wuz purty. Well, Brer Deer he hear talk un ’er, an’ he tuck a notion dat he gwineter marry ’er, but he dunner how he gwineter git up dar whar she live at. He study an’ study, but he can’t fin’ no way.

“He was settin’ down by de road studyin’ out a plan fer ter git word ter de gal, when ol’ Brer Rabbit come lopin’ down de lane. He mus’ a been playin’ hoss, kaze when he see Brer Deer, he shied an’ sneezed, he did, an’ make like he gwineter run away. But he ain’t run. He pass de time er day wid Brer Deer an’ ax ’im how his copperosity seem to segashuate. Brer Deer ’low dat his copperosity is segashuatin’ all right, but he got trouble in his min’ an’ he can’t git it out. He looked mighty sollumcolly when he say dis, an’ Brer Rabbit say he sorry.

“He sot down, Brer Rabbit did, an’ cross his legs, an’ rub his chin same like de doctor do when he gwineter slap a dose er bitter truck on yo’ insides. He rub his chin, he did, an’ look like he know all dey is fer ter be know’d. He say, ‘Brer Deer, when I wuz growin’ up I useter hear de ol’ folks say dat a light heart made a long life, an’ I b’lieve um. I sho’ does. Dey know’d what dey wuz talkin’ ’bout, kaze I done had de speunce un it.

“Brer Deer shuck his head an’ grieve. Ef he’d ’a’ had a hankcher, he ’a’ had need un it right den an’ dar, but he wink his eye fas’ fer ter git de tears out ’n um. He ’low, ‘I speck youer tellin’ me de trufe, Brer Rabbit, but I can’t he’p it ef you is. I am what I am, an’ I can’t be no ammer. I feels mo’ like cryin’ dan I does like eatin’, an’ I’m dat fractious dat I can’t skacely see straight. Ol’ Mr. Ram tol’ me howdy a while ago, an’ I ain’t done a thing but run at ’im an butt him slonchways. You nee’nter tell me dat I ain’t got no business fer ter do dat a-way; I des can’t he’p it.’

“Brer Rabbit kinder edge hisse’f away fum Brer Deer. He say, ‘Dat bein’ de case, Brer Deer, I speck I better gi’ you mo’ room. When I lef’ home dis mornin’ my ol’ ’oman ’low: “You better take keer er yo’se’f, honey,” an’ I’m gwineter do dat identual thing. I dunno dat I’m skeered er gittin’ hurted, but I’m monstus ticklish when de horned creeturs is roun’.’ Brer Deer say: ‘You nee’nter be fear’d er me, Brer Rabbit. I been knowin’ you a long time, an’ many’s de night dat we bofe graze in de same pastur’, you a-nibblin’ on de green grass an’ me a-crappin’ it. I’m monstus glad I run ’cross you, kaze ef I can’t tell my troubles ter some un, I b’lieve in my soul I’ll bust wide open.’