“Is that all, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy, as the old man paused.
“Dat ain’t all, honey, but ’twont do fer to give out too much cloff for ter cut one pa’r pants,” replied the old man sententiously.
When “Miss Sally’s” little boy went to Uncle Remus the next night, he found the old man in a bad humor.
“I ain’t tellin’ no tales ter bad chilluns,” said Uncle Remus curtly.
“But, Uncle Remus, I ain’t bad,” said the little boy plaintively.
“Who dat chunkin’ dem chickens dis mawnin’? Who dat knockin’ out fokes’s eyes wid dat Yaller-bammer sling des ’fo’ dinner? Who dat sickin’ dat pinter puppy atter my pig? Who dat scatterin’ my ingun sets? Who dat flingin’ rocks on top er my house, w’ich a little mo’ en one un em would er drap spang on my head!”
“Well, now, Uncle Remus, I didn’t go to do it. I won’t do so any more. Please, Uncle Remus, if you will tell me, I’ll run to the house, and bring you some tea-cakes.”
“Seein’ um’s better’n hearin’ tell un em,” replied the old man, the severity of his countenance relaxing somewhat; but the little boy darted out, and in a few minutes came running back with his pockets full and his hands full.
“I lay yo’ mammy’ll ’spishun dat de rats’ stummucks is widenin’ in dis naberhood w’en she come fer ter count up ’er cakes,” said Uncle Remus, with a chuckle.
“Lemme see. I mos’ dis’member wharbouts Brer Fox and Brer Rabbit wuz.”