“‘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!  Hol’ 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 mo’nin’ 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 Possum, 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 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 mouf wid de butter on his paws, en den he run off en nibble up