Told by Uncle Remus: New Stories of the Old Plantation

by Joel Chandler Harris

“De ax, it clum back on top er de woodpile an’ fell off on der side”

“Well, she got de ax, an’ it look like she wuz madder dan ever. De man, he say, ‘Better let de pot ’lone, honey; ef you don’t you’ll sholy wish you hadder.’ De ’oman, she squall out, ‘I’ll let you ’lone ef you fool wid me, an’ ef I do you won’t never pester nobody no mo’.’ Man, he say, ‘I’m a-tellin’ you de trufe, honey, an’ dis may be de las’ chance you’ll git ter hear it.’

“De ’oman raise de ax like she gwineter hit de man, an’ den it look like she tuck a n’er notion, an’ she start todes de pot. De man, he ’low, ‘You better hear me, honey! You better drap de ax an’ go out doors an’ cool yo’se’f off, honey!’ It seem like he wuz a mighty saf’-spoken man, wid nice feelin’s fer all. De ’oman, she say, ‘Don’t you dast ter honey me—ef you does I’ll brain you stidder de pot!’ De man smole a long smile an’ shuck his head; he say, ‘All de same, honey, you better pay ’tention ter deze las’ words I’m a-tellin’ you!’

“But de ’oman, she des keep right on. She’d ’a’ gone faster dan what she did, but it look like de ax got heavier eve’y step she tuck—heavier an’ heavier. An’ it look like de house got bigger—bigger an’ bigger; an’ it seem like de do’ got wider—wider an’ wider! She moughter seed all dis, an’ I speck she did, but she des keep right on, shakin’ de ax, an’ moufin’ ter herse’f. De man, he holler once mo’ an’ fer de las’ time, ‘Don’t let ol’ Nick fool you, honey, ef you does, he sho will git you!’

“But she keep on an’ keep on, an’ de house got bigger an’ de do’ got wider. De pot see her comin’, an’ it got fum a-straddle er de fire, whar it had been settin’ at, an’ skipped out’ de do’ an’ out in de yard.” Uncle Remus paused to see what effect this statement would have on the child, but save the shadow of a smile hovering around his mouth, the youngster gave no indication of unbelief. “De ’oman,” said Uncle Remus, with a chuckle that was repressed before it developed into a laugh, “look like she ’stonish’, but her temper kep’ hot, an’ she run out atter de pot wid de ax ez high ez she kin hol’ it; but de pot keep on gwine, skippin’ long on three legs faster dan de ’oman kin run on two; an’ de ax kep’ on gittin’ heavier an’ heavier, twel, bimeby, de ’oman hatter drap it. Den she lit out atter de pot like she wuz runnin’ a foot-race, but fast ez she run, de pot run faster.

“Den she lit out atter de pot like she wuz runnin’ a foot-race”

“De chase led right inter de woods an’ down de spring branch, an’ away over yander beyan’ de creek. De pot went so fast an’ it went so fur dat atter while de ’oman ’gun ter git weak. But de temper she had helt ’er up fer de longest, an’ mo’ dan dat, eve’y time she’d sorter slack up, de pot would dance an’ caper roun’ on its three legs, an’ do like it’s givin’ her a dar’—an’ she keep a-gwine twel she can’t hardly go no furder.

“De man he stayed at de house, but de ’oman an’ de pot ain’t git so fur but what he kin hear um scufflin’ an scramblin’ roun’ in de bushes, an’ he set dar, he did, an’ look like he right sorry fer anybody what’s ez hard-headed ez de ’oman. But she look like she bleeze ter ketch dat pot. She say ter herse’f dat folks will never git done talkin’ ’bout her ef she let herse’f be outdone by a ol’ dinner-pot what been in de fambly yever sence dey been any fambly.

“So she keep on, twel she tripped up on a vine er de bamboo brier, an’ down she come! It seem like de pot seed her, an’ stidder runnin’ fum ’er, here it come a-runnin’ right at ’er wid a chunk er red fire. Oh, you kin laugh, honey, an’ look like you don’t b’lieve me, but dat ain’t make no diffunce, kaze de trufe ain’t never been hurted yit by dem what ain’t b’lieve it. I dunner whar de chunk er fire come fum, an’ I dunner how de dinner-pot come ter have motion, but dar ’tis in de tale—take it er leave it, des ez you bleeze.