“‘Here I is. W’at you want wid me?’ en off he put like sump’n wuz atter ’im.
“He sallied ’roun’, ole Brer Rabbit did, en atter he make sho dat nobody ain’t foller’n un ’im, inter de spring-’ouse he bounces, en dar he stays twel he git a bait er butter. Den he santer on back en go to wuk.
“‘Whar you bin?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.
“‘I hear my chilluns callin’ me,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘en I hatter go see w’at dey want. My ole ’oman done gone en tuck mighty sick,’ sezee.
“Dey wuk on twel bimeby de butter tas’e so good dat ole Brer Rabbit want some mo’. Den he raise up his head, he did, en holler out:
“‘Heyo! Hole on! I’m a comin’!’ en off he put.
“Dis time he stay right smart w’ile, en w’en he git back Brer Fox ax him whar he bin.
“‘I been ter see my ole ’oman, en she’s a sinkin’,’ sezee.
“Dreckly Brer Rabbit hear um callin’ ’im ag’in en off he goes, en dis time, bless yo’ soul, he gits de butter out so clean dat he kin see hisse’f in de bottom er de bucket. He scrape it clean en lick it dry, en den he go back ter wuk lookin’ mo’ samer dan a nigger w’at de patter-rollers bin had holt un.
“‘How’s yo’ ole ’oman dis time?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.
“I’m oblije ter you, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘but I’m fear’d she’s done gone by now,’ en dat sorter make Brer Fox en Brer Possum feel in moanin’ wid Brer Rabbit.
“Bimeby, w’en dinner-time come, dey all got out der vittles, but Brer Rabbit keep on lookin’ lonesome, en Brer Fox en Brer Possum dey sorter rustle roun’ fer ter see ef dey can’t make Brer Rabbit feel sorter splimmy.”
“What is that, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy. “Sorter splimmy-splammy, honey—sorter like he in a crowd—sorter like his ole ’oman ain’t dead ez she mout be. You know how fokes duz w’en dey gits whar people’s a moanin’.”
The little boy didn’t know, fortunately for him, and Uncle Remus went on:
“Brer Fox en Brer Possum rustle roun’, dey did, gittin out de vittles, en bimeby Brer Fox, he say, sezee:
“‘Brer Possurn, you run down ter de spring en fetch de butter, en I’ll sail ’roun’ yer en set de table,’ sezee.
“Brer Possum, he lope off atter de butter, en dreckly here he come lopin’ back wid his years a trimblin’ en his tongue a hangin’ out. Brer Fox, he holler out:
“‘W’at de matter now, Brer Possum?’ sezee.
“‘You all better run yer, fokes,’ sez Brer Possum, sezee. ‘De las’ drap er dat butter done gone!’
“‘Whar she gone?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.
“‘Look like she dry up,’ sez Brer Possum, sezee.
“Den Brer Rabbit, he look sorter sollum, he did, en he up’n say, sezee.
“‘I speck dat butter melt in somebody mouf,’ sezee. “Den dey went down ter de spring wid Brer Possum, en sho nuff de butter done gone. W’iles dey wuz sputin’ over de wunderment, Brer Rabbit say he see tracks all ’roun’ dar, en he p’int out dat ef de’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 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 mouf. Den dey wake up Brer Possum, en tell ’im ’bout it, but c’ose Brer Possum ’ny it ter 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 hang 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 b’il’ a big bresh-heap en set her afier, en all han’s try ter jump over, en de one w’at fall in, den he de chap w’at stole de butter. Brer Rabbit en Brer Fox dey if 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, en look ’roun’ en giggle, en over he went mo’ samer dan a bird flyin’. Den come Brer Fox. He got back little fudder, en spit on his han’s, en lit out en made de jump, en he come so nigh gittin’ 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 informafion.
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 cen’ er his tail ain’t w’ite. 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 little boy.
“Ole Brer Possum, he tuck a runnin’ start, he did, en he come lumberin’ ’long, en he lit—kerblam!—right in de middle er de fier, en dat wuz de las’ er ole 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.
“Dat w’at make I say w’at I duz, honey. In dis worril, lots er fokes is gotter suffer fer udder fokes sins. Look like hit’s mighty onwrong; but hit’s des dat away. Tribbalashun seem like she’s a waitin’ roun’ de cornder fer ter ketch one en all un us, honey.”