wuz de fus' man 'p'inted, 'kaze he wa'n't mo'n a half a
han'[69] no way you kin fix it. De t'er creeturs dey tuck'n went off ter
dey wuk, en Brer Mink he tuck'n sot up wid de butter. He watch en he
lissen, he lissen en he watch; he aint see nothin', he aint year
nothin'. Yit he watch, 'kaze der t'er creeturs done fix up a law dat ef
Wattle Weasel come w'iles somebody watchin' en git off bidout gittin'
kotch, de man w'at watchin' aint kin eat no mo' butter endurin' er dat
year.

"Brer Mink, he watch en he wait. He set so still dat bimeby he git de
cramps in de legs, en des 'bout dat time little Wattle Weasel pop he
head und' de do'. He see Brer Mink, en he hail 'im:

"'Heyo, Brer Mink! you look sorter lonesome in dar. Come out yer en less
take a game er hidin'-switch.'

"Brer Mink, he wanter have some fun, he did, en he tuck'n jine Wattle
Weasel in de game. Dey play en dey play twel, bimeby, Brer Mink git so
wo' out dat he aint kin run, skacely, en des soon ez dey sets down ter
res', Brer Mink, he draps off ter sleep. Little Wattle Weasel, so mighty
big en fine, he goes en nibbles up de butter, en pops out de way he come
in.

"De creeturs, dey come back, dey did, en dey fine de butter nibbled, en
Wattle Weasel gone. Wid dat, dey marks Brer Mink down, en he aint
kin eat no mo' butter dat year. Den dey fix up 'n'er choosement en
'p'int Brer Possum fer ter watch de butter.

"Brer Possum, he grin en watch, and bimeby, sho' 'nuff, in pop little
Wattle Weasel. He come in, he did, en he sorter hunch Brer Possum in de
short ribs, en ax 'im how he come on. Brer Possum mighty ticklish, en
time Wattle Weasel totch 'im in de short ribs, he 'gun ter laugh. Wattle
Weasel totch 'im ag'in en laugh wusser, en he keep on hunchin' 'im dat
a-way twel bimeby Brer Possum laugh hisse'f plum outer win', en Wattle
Weasel lef 'im dar en nibble up de butter.

"De creeturs, dey tuck'n mark Brer Possum down, en 'p'int Brer Coon.
Brer Coon, he tuck'n start in all so mighty fine; but w'iles he settin'
dar, little Wattle Weasel banter 'im fer a race up de branch. No sooner
say dan yer dey went! Brer Coon, he foller de tu'ns er de branch, en
little Wattle Weasel he take'n take nigh cuts, en 't wa'n't no time 'fo'
he done run Brer Coon plum down. Den dey run down de branch, and 'fo'
Brer Coon kin ketch up wid 'im, dat little Wattle Weasel done got back
ter de noggin er butter, en nibble it up.

"Den de creeturs tuck'n mark Brer Coon down, dey did