say dat dey 'd sorter gin a blowout, en dey got wud ter ole man
Benjermun Ram w'ich dey 'speckted 'im fer ter be on han'. W'en de time
done come fer Mr. Benjermun Ram fer ter start, de win' blow cole en de
cloud 'gun ter spread out 'cross de elements--but no marter fer dat; ole
man Benjermun Ram tuck down he walkin'-cane, he did, en tie up he fiddle
in a bag, en sot out fer Miss Meadows. He thunk he know de way, but hit
keep on gittin' col'er en col'er, en mo' cloudy, twel bimeby, fus' news
you know, ole Mr. Benjermun Ram done lose de way. Ef he'd er kep' on
down de big road fum de start, it moughter bin diffunt, but he tuck a
nigh-cut, en he aint git fur 'fo' he done los' sho' 'nuff. He go dis
a-way, en he go dat a-way, en he go de yuther way, yit all de same he
wuz done los'. Some folks would er sot right flat down whar dey wuz en
study out der way, but ole man Benjermun Ram aint got wrinkle on he
hawn fer nothin', kaze he done got de name er ole Billy Hardhead long
'fo' dat. Den ag'in, some folks would er stop right still in der tracks
en holler en bawl fer ter see ef dey can't roust up some er de
neighbors, but ole Mr. Benjermun Ram, he des stick he jowl in de win',
he did, en he march right on des 'zackly like he know he aint gwine de
wrong way. He keep on, but 't wa'n't long 'fo' he 'gun ter feel right
lonesome, mo' speshually w'en hit come up in he min' how Miss Meadows en
de gals en all de comp'ny be bleedz ter do de bes' dey kin bidout any
fiddlin'; en hit kinder make he marrer git cole w'en he study 'bout how
he gotter sleep out dar in de woods by hisse'f.

[Illustration: MR. BENJAMIN RAM AND HIS WONDERFUL FIDDLE]

"Yit, all de same, he keep on twel de dark 'gun ter drap down, en den he
keep on still, en bimeby he come ter a little rise whar dey wuz a
clay-gall. W'en he git dar he stop en look 'roun', he did, en 'way off
down in de holler, dar he see a light shinin', en w'en he see dis, ole
man Benjermun Ram tuck he foot in he han', en make he way todes it des
lak it de ve'y place w'at he bin huntin'. 'T wa'n't long 'fo' he come
ter de house whar de light is, en, bless you soul, he don't make no
bones er knockin'. Den somebody holler out:

"'Who dat?'

"'I'm Mr. Benjermun Ram, en I done lose de way, en I come fer ter ax you
ef you can't take me in fer de night,' sezee.

"In common," continued Uncle Remus, "ole Mr. Benjermun Ram wuz a mighty
rough-en-spoken somebody, but you better b'leeve he talk mons