ty_."

[Illustration: BROTHER FOX COVETS THE QUILLS]

The old man folded his hands in his lap, and sat quietly gazing into the
lightwood fire. Presently he said:

"I 'speck Miss Sally blessin' us all right now, en fus' news you know
she'll h'ist up en have Mars John a-trapesin' down yer; en ef she do
dat, den ter-morrer mawnin' my brekkuss'll be col', en lakwise my
dinner, en ef dey's sump'n' w'at I 'spizes hit 's col' vittels."

Thereupon Uncle Remus arose, shook himself, peered out into the night to
discover that the rain had nearly ceased, and then made ready to carry
the little boy to his mother. Long before the chickens had crowed for
midnight, the child, as well as the old man, had been transported to the
land where myths and fables cease to be wonderful,--the land of pleasant
dreams.

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FOOTNOTES:

[20] An allusion to the primitive mode of cleaning hogs by heating
rocks, and placing them in a barrel or tank of water.

[21] This word "lonesome," as used by the negroes, is the equivalent
of "thrilling," "romantic," etc., and in that sense is very
expressive.

[22] An inquiry after his health. Another form is: "How does yo'
corporosity seem ter segashuate?"

[23] Exercise himself.
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XVI

HOW BROTHER FOX FAILED TO GET HIS GRAPES

One night the little boy failed to make his appearance at the accustomed
hour, and the next morning the intelligence that the child was sick went
forth from the "big house." Uncle Remus was told that it had been
necessary during the night to call in two physicians. When this
information was imparted to the old man, there was an expression upon
his countenance of awe not unmixed with indignation. He gave vent to the
latter:

"Dar now! Two un um! W'en dat chile rize up, ef rize up he do, he'll des
nat'ally be a shadder. Yer I is, gwine on eighty year, en I aint tuck
none er dat ar docter truck yit, ceppin' it's dish yer flas' er
poke-root w'at ole Miss Favers fix up fer de stiffness in my j'ints.
Dey'll come en dey'll go, en dey'll po' in der jollup yer, en slap on
der fly-plarster dar, en sprinkle der calomy yander, twel bimeby dat
chile won't look like hisse'f. Dat 's w'at! En mo'n dat, hit 's mighty
kuse unter me dat ole folks kin go 'long en stan' up ter de rack en
gobble up der '