“‘Oh, no, Brer Bull-frog!  You ain’t de man w’at stick yo’ head up out’n de water en tell me Brer Rabbit done gone on by.  Oh, no! you ain’t de man.  I boun’ you ain’t.  ’Bout dat time, you wuz at home with yo’ fambly, whar you allers is.  I dunner whar you wuz, but I knows whar you is, Brer Bull-frog, en hit’s you en me fer it.  Atter de sun goes down dis day you don’t fool no mo’ folks gwine ‘long dis road.’

“Co’se, Brer Bull-frog dunner w’at Brer B’ar drivin’ at, but he know sump’n hatter be done, en dat mighty soon, kaze Brer B’ar ’gun to snap his jaws tergedder en foam at de mouf, en Brer Bull-frog holler out: 

“’Oh, pray, Brer B’ar!  Lemme off dis time, en I won’t never do so no mo’.  Oh, pray, Brer B’ar! do lemme off dis time, en I’ll show you de fattes’ bee-tree in de woods.’

“Ole Brer B’ar, he chomp his toofies en foam at de mouf.  Brer Bull-frog he des up’n squall: 

“‘Oh, pray, Brer B’ar!  I won’t never do so no mo’!  Oh, pray, Brer B’ar!  Lemme off dis time!’

“But ole Brer B’ar say he gwineter make way wid ’im, en den he sot en study, ole Brer B’ar did, how he gwineter squench Brer Bull-frog.  He know he can’t drown ’im, en he ain’t got no fier fer ter bu’n ’im, en he git mighty pestered.  Bimeby ole Brer Bull-frog, he sorter stop his cryin’ en his boo-hooin’, en he up’n say: 

“’Ef you gwineter kill me, Brer B’ar, kyar me ter dat big flat rock out dar on de aidge er de mill-pon’, whar I kin see my fambly, en atter I see um, den you kin take you axe en sqush me.’

“Dis look so fa’r and squar’ dat Brer B’ar he ’gree, en he take ole Brer Bull-frog by wunner his behime legs, en sling his axe on his shoulder, en off he put fer de big flat rock.  When he git dar he lay Brer Bullfrog down on de rock, en Brer Bull-frog make like he lookin’ ‘roun’ fer his folks.  Den Brer B’ar, he draw long breff en pick up his axe.  Den he spit in his han’s en draw back en come down on de rock—­pow!”

“’Did he kill the Frog, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy, as the old man paused to scoop up a thimbleful of glowing embers in his pipe.

“’Deed, en dat he didn’t, honey.  ‘Twix’ de time w’en Brer B’ar raise up wid his axe en w’en he come down wid it, ole Brer Bull-frog he lipt up en dove down in de mill-pon’, kerblink-kerblunk!  En w’en he riz way out in de pon’ he riz a singin’, en dish yer’s de song w’at he sing: 

“’Ingle-go-jang, my joy, my joy-
Ingle-go-jang, my joy! 
I’m right at home, my joy, my joy-
Ingle-go-jang, my joy!’”

“That’s a mighty funny song,” said the little boy.

“Funny now, I speck,” said the old man, “but ’tweren’t funny in dem days, en ’twouldn’t be funny now ef folks know’d much ’bout de Bull-frog langwidge ez dey useter.  Dat’s w’at.”

XXV.  HOW MR. RABBIT LOST HIS FINE BUSHY TAIL