by de gin-house, en 't wa'n't long
'fo' dey git ter whar de frolic wuz.

"'Dey dance, en dey play, en dey sing. Mo' 'speshually did dey play en
sing dat ar song w'ich it run on lak dis:--

"'_Come under, come under,
My honey, my love, my own true love;
My heart bin a-weepin'
Way down in Galilee._'

"Dey wuz gwine on dis a-way, havin' der 'musements, w'en, bimeby, ole
Mr. Peafowl, he got on de comb er de barn en blow de dinner-hawn. Dey
all wash der face en ban's in de back po'ch, en den dey went in ter
dinner. W'en dey git in dar, dey don't see nothin' on de table but a
great big pile er co'n-bread. De pones was pile up on pones, en on de
top wuz a great big ash-cake. Mr. Rooster, he look at dis en he tu'n up
he nose, en bimeby, atter aw'ile, out he strut. Ole Miss Guinny Hen, she
watchin' Mr. Rooster motions, en w'en she see dis, she take'n squall
out, she did:--

"_'Pot-rack! Pot-rack!_ Mr. Rooster gone back! _Pot-rack! Pot-rack!_ Mr.
Rooster gone back!'

"Wid dat dey all make a great ter-do. Miss Hen en Miss Pullet, dey
cackle en squall, Mr. Gobbler, he gobble, en Miss Puddle Duck, she shake
'er tail en say, _quickity-quack-quack_. But Mr. Rooster, he ruffle up
he cape, en march on out.

"Dis sorter put a damper on de yuthers, but 'fo' Mr. Rooster git outer
sight en year'n dey went ter wuk on de pile w'at wuz 'pariently
co'n-bread, en, lo en beholes, un'need dem pone er bread wuz a whole
passel er meat en greens, en bake' taters, en bile' turnips. Mr.
Rooster, he year de ladies makin' great 'miration, en he stop en look
thoo de crack, en dar he see all de doin's en fixin's. He feel mighty
bad, Mr. Rooster did, w'en he see all dis, en de yuther fowls dey holler
en ax 'im fer ter come back, en he craw, w'ich it mighty empty,
likewise, it up'n ax 'im, but he mighty biggity en stuck up, en he strut
off, crowin' ez he go; but he 'speunce er dat time done las' him en all
er his fambly down ter dis day. En you neenter take my wud fer't, ne'r,
kaze ef you'll des keep yo' eye open en watch, you'll ketch a glimse er
ole Mr. Rooster folks scratchin' whar dey 'specks ter fine der rations,
en mo' dan dat, dey'll scratch wid der rations in plain sight. Since dat
time, dey ain't none er de Mr. Roosters bin fool' by dat w'at dey see on
top. Dey ain't res' twel dey see w'at und' dar. Dey'll scratch spite er
all creation."

"Dat's de Lord's truth!" said 'Tildy, with unction. "I done seed um wid
my own eyes.