“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 Yallerbammer 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 um, 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’ stummicks is widenin’ in dis neighborhood w’en she come fer ter count up ’er cakes,” said Uncle Remus, with a chuckle.  “Deze,” he continued, dividing the cakes into two equal parts—­“dese I’ll tackle now, en dese I’ll lay by fer Sunday.

“Lemme see.  I mos’ dis’member wharbouts Brer Fox en Brer Rabbit wuz.”

“The rabbit rode the fox to Miss Meadows’s, and hitched him to the horse-rack,” said the little boy.

“W’y co’se he did,” said Uncle Remus.  “C’ose he did.  Well, Brer Rabbit rid Brer Fox up, he did, en tied ’im to de rack, en den sot out in de peazzer wid de gals a smokin’ er his seegyar wid mo’ proudness dan w’at you mos’ ever see.  Dey talk, en dey sing, en dey play on de peanner, de gals did, twel bimeby hit come time fer Brer Rabbit fer to be gwine, en he tell um all good-by, en strut out to de hoss-rack same’s ef he wuz de king er de patter-rollers,*1 en den he mount Brer Fox en ride off.

“Brer Fox ain’t sayin’ nuthin’ ’tall.  He des rack off, he did, en keep his mouf shet, en Brer Rabbit know’d der wuz bizness cookin’ up fer him, en he feel monstus skittish.  Brer Fox amble on twel he git in de long lane, outer sight er Miss Meadows’s house, en den he tu’n loose, he did.  He rip en he ra’r, en he cuss, en he swar; he snort en he cavort.”

“What was he doing that for, Uncle Remus?” the little boy inquired.

“He wuz tryin’ fer ter fling Brer Rabbit off’n his back, bless yo’ soul!  But he des might ez well er rastle wid his own shadder.  Every time he hump hisse’f Brer Rabbit slap de spurrers in ’im, en dar dey had it, up en down.  Brer Fox fa’rly to’ up de groun’ he did, en he jump so high en he jump so quick dat he mighty nigh snatch his own tail off.  Dey kep’ on gwine on dis way twel bimeby Brer Fox lay down en roll over, he did, en dis sorter onsettle Brer Rabbit, but by de time Brer Fox got back on his footses agin, Brer Rabbit wuz gwine thoo de underbresh mo’ samer dan a race-hoss.  Brer Fox he lit out atter ’im, he did, en he push Brer Rabbit so close dat it wuz ’bout all he could do fer ter git in a holler tree.  Hole too little fer Brer Fox fer ter git in, en he hatter lay down en res en gedder his mine tergedder.