“‘Ef you don’t lemme loose, I’ll knock you agin,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, en wid dat he fotch ‘er a wipe wid de udder han’, en dat stuck.  Tar-Baby, she ain’t sayin’ nuthin’, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

“‘Tu’n me loose, fo’ I kick de natchul stuffin’ outen you,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, but de Tar-Baby, she ain’t sayin’ nuthin’.  She des hilt on, en de Brer Rabbit lose de use er his feet in de same way.  Brer Fox, he lay low.  Den Brer Rabbit squall out dat ef de Tar-Baby don’t tu’n ’im loose he butt ’er cranksided.  En den he butted, en his head got stuck.  Den Brer Fox, he sa’ntered fort’, lookin’ dez ez innercent ez wunner yo’ mammy’s mockin’- birds.

“Howdy, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.  ’You look sorter stuck up dis mawnin’,’ sezee, en den he rolled on de groun’, en laft en laft twel he couldn’t laff no mo’.  ’I speck you’ll take dinner wid me dis time, Brer Rabbit.  I done laid in some calamus root, en I ain’t gwineter take no skuse,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.”

Here Uncle Remus paused, and drew a two-pound yam out of the ashes.

“Did the fox eat the rabbit?” asked the little boy to whom the story had been told.

“Dat’s all de fur de tale goes,” replied the old man.  “He mout, an den agin he moutent.  Some say Judge B’ar come ’long en loosed ‘im—­some say he didn’t.  I hear Miss Sally callin’.  You better run ’long.”

III.  WHY MR. POSSUM LOVES PEACE

“One night,” said Uncle Remus—­taking Miss Sally’s little boy on his knee, and stroking the child’s hair thoughtfully and caressingly—­“one night Brer Possum call by fer Brer Coon, ‘cordin’ ter ‘greement, en atter gobblin’ up a dish er fried greens en smokin’ a seegyar, dey rambled fort’ fer ter see how de ballance er de settlement wuz gittin’ long.  Brer Coon, he wuz one er deze yer natchul pacers, en he racked ’long same ez Mars John’s bay pony, en Brer Possum he went in a han’-gallup; en dey got over heap er groun, mon.  Brer Possum, he got his belly full er ’simmons, en Brer Coon, he scoop up a ’bunnunce er frogs en tadpoles.  Dey amble long, dey did, des ez sociable ez a basket er kittens, twel bimeby dey hear Mr. Dog talkin’ ter hisse’f way off in de woods.

“‘Spozen he runs up on us, Brer Possum, w’at you gwineter do?’ sez Brer Coon, sezee.  Brer Possum sorter laugh ’round de cornders un his mouf.

“‘Oh, ef he come, Brer Coon, I’m gwineter stan’ by you,’ sez Brer Possum.  ‘W’at you gwineter do?’ sezee.

“‘Who? me?’ sez Brer Coon.  ’Ef he run up onter me, I lay I give ‘im one twis’,’ sezee.”

“Did the dog come?” asked the little boy.