“‘Whar she gone?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.
“‘Look like she dried up,’ sez Brer Possum, sezee.
“Den Brer Rabbit he look sorter wise, he did, en he up’n say, sezee,—
“‘I speck dat butter melt in somebody’s mouf,’ sezee.
“Den dey went down ter de spring wid Brer Possum, en sho ’nuff de butter wuz gone. W’ile dey was sputin’ over der wunderment, Brer Rabbit say he see tracks all ’roun’ dar, en he p’int out dat ef dey’ll all go ter sleep, he kin ketch de chap w’at stole de butter. Den dey all lie down, en Brer Fox en Brer Possum dey soon drapt off ter sleep; but Brer Rabbit he stay ’wake, en w’en de time come, he raise up easy en smear Brer Possum’s mouf wid de butter on his paws, en den he run off en nibble up de bes’ er de dinner w’at dey lef’ layin’ out, en den he come back en wake up Brer Fox, en show ’im de butter on Brer Possum’s mouf. Den dey wake Brer Possum up, en tell ’im about it; but c’ose Brer Possum ’ny it to de las’. Brer Fox, dough, he’s a kinder lawyer, en he argafy dis way,—dat Brer Possum wuz de fus one at de butter, en de fus one fer ter miss it, en, mo’n dat, dar hung de signs on his mouf. Brer Possum see dat dey got ’im jammed up in a cornder, en den he up en say dat de way fer ter ketch de man w’at stole de butter is ter bil’ a big bresh-heap en set her afier, en all hands try ter jump over, en de one w’at fall in, den he de chap w’at stole de butter. Brer Rabbit and Brer Fox dey bofe ’gree, dey did; en dey whirl in en b’il’ de bresh-heap, en dey b’il’ her high, en dey b’il’ her wide, en den dey totch her off. W’en she got ter blazin’ up good, Brer Rabbit he tuck de fus turn. He sorter step back, look ’roun’ en giggle, en over he went mo’ samer den a bird fly in’. Den come Brer Fox. He got back little fudder, en spit on his han’s, en den lit out en made de jump, en he come so nigh gettin’ in dat de een’ er his tail kotch afier. Ain’t you never see no fox, honey?” inquired Uncle Remus in a tone that implied both conciliation and information.
The little boy thought probably he had, but he wouldn’t commit himself.
“Well, den,” continued the old man, “nex’ time you see one un um, you look right close en see ef de een’ er his tail ain’t white. Hit’s des like I tell you. Dey b’ars de skyar er dat bresh-heap down ter dis day. Dey er marked—dat’s w’at dey is—dey er marked.”
“And what about Brother Possum?” asked the boy.
“Old Brer Possum, he tuck a runnin’ start, he did, en he come lumberin’ ’long, en he hit—ker blam!—right in de middle er de fier, en dat waz de las’ er old Brer Possum.”
“But, Uncle Remus, Brother Possum didn’t steal the butter after all,” said the little boy, who was not at all satisfied with such summary injustice.