“Atter kickin’ up a rippet, an’ makin’ de place hot ez she kin, de ’oman made a big fire un’ de pot, an’ flew’d roun’ dar des like she tryin’ fer ter cook a sho’ ’nough supper. She made some dumplin’s an’ flung um in de pot; den she put in some peas an’ big pods er red pepper, an’ on top er all she flung a sheep’s head. De man, he sot dar, an’ look straight at de cross-mark what he done made in de ashes. Atterwhile, he ’gun to smell de calamus-root a-cookin’ an’ he know’d by dat, dat sump’n wuz gwineter happen.
“De pot, it biled, an’ biled, an’ fus’ news you know, de sheep’s head ’gun ter butt de dumplin’s out, an’ de peas, dey flew’d out an’ rattled on de flo’ like a bag er bullets done busted. De ’oman, she run fer ter see what de matter is, an’ when she got close ter de pot de steam fum de thunderwood hit her in de face an’ eyes an’ come mighty nigh takin’ her breff away. Dis kinder stumped ’er fer a minnit, but she had a temper big ’nough fer ter drag a bull down, an’ all she had ter do when she lose her breff wuz ter fling her han’s in de a’r an’ fetch a snort, an’ dar she wuz.
“She moughter been mad befo’, but dis time she wuz mighty nigh plum’ crazy. She look at de pot, an’ she look at her ol’ man; she shot her eyeballs an’ clinched her han’s; she yerked off her head-hankcher, an’ pulled her ha’r loose fum de wroppin’-strings; she stomped her foot, an’ smashed her toofies tergedder.
“She railed at de pot; she ’low, ‘What ail you, you black Dickunce? I b’lieve youer de own brer ter de Ol’ Boy! You been foolin’ wid me fer de longest, an’ I ain’t gwine ter put up wid it! I’m gwineter tame you down!’ Wid dat, she flung off de homespun sack what she been w’arin’ an’ run outer de house an’ got de ax.
“Her ol’ man say, ‘Whar you gwine, honey?’ She ’low, ‘I’m a gwine whar I’m a gwine, dat’s whar I’m a gwine!’ De man, he ain’t spon’ ter dat kinder talk, an’ de ’oman, she went out in back yard fer ter hunt fer de ax. Look like she gwineter keep on gittin’ in trouble, kaze de ax wuz on top er de wood what de man done pile up out dar. It wuz layin’ up dar, de ax wuz, des ez slanchendicklar ez you please, but time it see her comin’——”
“But, Uncle Remus!” the child exclaimed, “how could the ax see her?”
The old negro looked at the little boy with an expression of amazed pity on his face. He looked all around the room and then raised his eyes to the rafters, where a long cobweb was swaying slowly in a breeze so light that nothing else would respond to its invitation. Then he sighed and closed his eyes. “I wish yo’ pa wuz here right now, I mos’ sholy does—yo’ pa, what useter set right whar youer settin’! You done been raised in town whar dey can’t tell a ax fum a wheelbarrer. Ax ain’t got no eye! Well, whoever is hear de beat er dat! Ef anybody else is got dat idee, I’ll be much erbleege ef you’ll show um ter me. Here you is mighty nigh big ’nough fer eat raw tater widout havin’ de doctor called in, an’ a-settin’ dar sayin’ dat axes ain’t got no eyes. Well, you ax yo’ gran’ma when you go back ter de house an’ see what she say.
“Now, le’ me see; wharbouts wuz I at? Oh, yes! De ax wuz on top er woodpile, an’ when it seed de ’oman comin’, it des turned loose an’ slip down on de yuther side. It wa’n’t tryin’ fer ter show off, like I’ve seed some folks ’fo’ now; it des turned loose eve’ything an’ fell down on de yuther side er de woodpile. An’ whiles de ’oman wuz gwin roun’ atter it, de ax, it clum back on top er de woodpile an’ fell off on t’er side. Dem what handed de tale down ter me ain’t say how long de ’oman an’ de ax keep dis up, but ef a ax is got eyes, it ain’t got but one leg, an’ it must not ’a’ been so mighty long ’fo’ de ’oman cotch up wid it—an’ when she did she wuz so mad dat she could ’a’ bit a railroad track in two, ef dey’d ’a’ been one anywhar’s roun’ dar.
