“I ‘clar’ ter gracious, honey,” Uncle Remus exclaimed one night, as the little boy ran in, “you sholy ain’t chaw’d yo’ vittles.  Hit ain’t bin no time, skacely, sence de supper-bell rung, en ef you go on dis a-way, you’ll des nat’ally pe’sh yo’se’f out.”

“Oh, I wasn’t hungry,” said the little boy.  “I had something before supper, and I wasn’t hungry anyway.”

The old man looked keenly at the child, and presently he said: 

“De ins en de outs er dat kinder talk all come ter de same p’int in my min’.  Youer bin a-cuttin’ up at de table, en Mars John, he tuck’n sont you ‘way fum dar, en w’iles he think youer off some’er a-snifflin’ en a-feelin’ bad, yer you is a-high-primin’ ‘roun’ des lak you done had mo’ supper dan de King er Philanders.”

Before the little boy could inquire about the King of Philanders he heard his father calling him.  He started to go out, but Uncle Remus motioned him back.

“Des set right whar you is, honey—­des set right still.”

Then Uncle Remus went to the door and answered for the child; and a very queer answer it was—­one that could be heard half over the plantation: 

“Mars John, I wish you en Miss Sally be so good ez ter let dat chile ‘lone.  He down yer cryin’ he eyes out, en he ain’t boddern’ ’long er nobody in de roun’ worl’.”

Uncle Remus stood in the door a moment to see what the reply would be, but he heard none.  Thereupon he continued, in the same loud tone: 

“I ain’t bin use ter no sich gwines on in Ole Miss time, en I ain’t gwine git use ter it now.  Dat I ain’t.”

Presently ’Tildy, the house-girl, brought the little boy his supper, and the girl was no sooner out of hearing than the child swapped it with Uncle Remus for a roasted yam, and the enjoyment of both seemed to be complete.

“Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, after a while, “you know I wasn’t crying just now.”

“Dat’s so, honey,” the old man replied, “but ’t wouldn’t er bin long ‘fo’ you would er bin, kaze Mars John bawl out lak a man wa’t got a strop in he han’, so wa’t de diff’unce?”

When they had finished eating, Uncle Remus busied himself in cutting and trimming some sole-leather for future use.  His knife was so keen, and the leather fell away from it so smoothly and easily, that the little boy wanted to trim some himself.  But to this Uncle Remus would not listen.

“‘Tain’t on’y chilluns w’at got de consate er doin’ eve’ything dey see yuther folks do.  Hit’s grown folks w’at oughter know better,” said the old man.  “Dat’s des de way Brer B’ar git his tail broke off smick-smack-smoove, en down ter dis day he be funnies’-lookin’ creetur w’at wobble on top er dry groun’.”

Instantly the little boy forgot all about Uncle Remus’s sharp knife.