“Bless grashus, honey, dat he didn’t. Who? Him? You dunno nuthin’ ’tall ’bout Brer Rabbit ef dat’s de way you puttin’ ’im down. Wat he gwine ’way fer? He mouter stayed sorter close twel the pitch rub off’n his ha’r, but twern’t menny days ’fo’ he wuz loping up en down de naberhood same as ever, en I dunno ef he wern’t mo’ sassier dan befo’.
“Seem like dat de tale ’bout how he got mixt up wid de Tar-Baby got ’roun’ mongst de nabers. Leas’ways, Miss Meadows en de girls got win’ un’ it, en de nex’ time Brer Rabbit paid um a visit, Miss Meadows tackled ’im ’bout it, en de gals sot up a monstus gigglement. Brer Rabbit, he sot up des ez cool ez a cowcumber, he did, en let ’em run on.”
“Who was Miss Meadows, Uncle Remus?” inquired the little boy.
“Don’t ax me, honey. She wuz in de tale, Miss Meadows en de gals wuz, en de tale I give you like hi’t wer’ gun ter me. Brer Rabbit, he sot dar, he did, sorter lam’ like, en den bimeby he cross his legs, he did, and wink his eye slow, en up en say, sezee:
“‘Ladies, Brer Fox wuz my daddy’s ridin’-hoss for thirty year; maybe mo’, but thirty year dat I knows un,’ sezee; en den he paid um his specks, en tip his beaver, en march off, he did, dez ez stiff en ez stuck up ez a fire-stick.
“Nex’ day, Brer Fox cum a callin’, and w’en he gun fer to laff ’bout Brer Rabbit, Miss Meadows en de gals, dey ups and tells im ’bout w’at Brer Rabbit say. Den Brer Fox grit his toof sho’ nuff, he did, en he look mighty dumpy, but when he riz fer to go he up en say, sezee;
“‘Ladies, I ain’t ’sputing w’at you say, but I’ll make Brer Rabbit chaw up his words en spit um out right yer whar you kin see ’im,’ sezee, en wid dat off Brer Fox marcht.
“En w’en he got in de big road, he shuck de dew off’n his tail, en made a straight shoot fer Brer Rabbit’s house. W’en he got dar, Brer Rabbit wuz spectin’ un him, en de do’ wuz shut fas’. Brer Fox knock. Nobody ain’t ans’er. Brer Fox knock. Nobody ans’er. Den he knock agin—blam! blam! Den Brer Rabbit holler out, mighty weak:
“‘Is dat you, Brer Fox? I want you ter run en fetch de doctor. Dat bit er parsley w’at I e’t dis mawnin’ is gittin’ ’way wid me. Do, please, Brer Fox, run quick,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.
“‘I come atter you, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. ‘Dere’s gwinter be a party up at Miss Meadow’s,’ sezee. ‘All de gals’ll be dere, en I promus’ dat I’d fetch you. De gals, dey ’lowed dat hit wouldn’t be no party ’ceppin I fotch you,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.