“Where was the Rabbit?” the little boy asked.

“You kin put yo’ ’pennunce in ole Brer Rabbit,” the old man replied, with a chuckle.  “He wuz dere, but he shuffle up kinder late, kaze w’en Miss Meadows en de balance on um done gone down ter de place, Brer Rabbit, he crope ‘roun’ ter de ash-hopper, en fill Brer Coon’s slippers full er ashes, en den he tuck’n put um on en march off.  He got dar atter ’w’ile, en soon’s Miss Meadows en de gals seed ’im, dey up’n giggle, en make a great ’miration kaze Brer Rabbit got on slippers.  Brer Fox, he so smart, he holler out, he did, en say he lay Brer Rabbit got de groun’-eatch, but Brer Rabbit, he sorter shet one eye, he did, en say, sezee: 

“‘I bin so useter ridin’ hoss-back, ez deze ladies knows, dat I’m gittin’ sorter tender-footed;’ en dey don’t hear much mo’ fum Brer Fox dat day, kaze he ’member how Brer Rabbit done bin en rid him; en hit ’uz des ’bout much ez Miss Meadows en de gals could do fer ter keep der snickers fum gittin’ up a ’sturbance ’mong de congregashun.  But, never mine dat, old Brer Rabbit, he wuz dar, en he so brash dat leetle mo’ en he’d er grab up de sludge-hammer en er open up de racket ‘fo’ ennybody gun de word; but Brer Fox, he shove Brer Rabbit out’n de way en pick up de sludge hisse’f.  Now den,” continued the old man, with pretty much the air of one who had been the master of similar ceremonies, “de progance wuz dish yer:  Eve’y gent wer ter have th’ee licks at de rock, en de gent w’at fetch de dus’ he were de one w’at gwineter take de pick er de gals.  Ole Brer Fox, he grab de sludge-hammer, he did, en he come down on de rock—­blim!  No dus’ ain’t come.  Den he draw back en down he come ag’in—­blam!  No dus’ ain’t come.  Den he spit in his han’s, en give ’er a big swing en down she come—­kerblap!  En yit no dus’ ain’t flew’d.

“Den Brer Possum he make triul, en Brer Coon, en all de balance un um ‘cep’ Brer Tarrypin, en he ’low dat he got a crick in his neck.  Den Brer Rabbit, he grab holt er de sludge, en he lipt up in de a’r en come down on de rock all at de same time—­pow!—­en de ashes, dey flew’d up so, dey did, dat Brer Fox, he tuck’n had a sneezin’ spell, en Miss Meadows en de gals dey up’n koff.  Th’ee times Brer Rabbit jump up en crack his heels tergedder en come down wid de sludge-hammer—­ker-blam!—­en eve’y time he jump up, he holler out: 

“‘Stan’ fudder, ladies!  Yer come de dus’!’ en sho nuff, de dus’ come.

“Leas’ways,” continued Uncle Remus, “Brer Rabbit got one er de gals, en dey had a weddin’ en a big infa’r.”

“Which of the girls did the Rabbit marry?” asked the little boy, dubiously.

“I did year tell un ’er name,” replied the old man, with a great affectation of interest, “but look like I done gone en fergit it out’n my mine.  Ef I don’t disremember,” he continued, “hit wuz Miss Molly Cottontail, en I speck we better let it go at dat.”

XXXI.  A PLANTATION WITCH