Chapter 49

"Lor'! Br'er Coon, you don't think I done that 'cause I was afraid, does you?" says he. "Why, I were no more afraid than you is this minute. What was there to be skeered at?" says he. "I knew you'd get away with Mr. Dog if I didn't, and I just lay there watching you shake him, waiting to put in when the time came," says he.

Br'er Coon turn up his nose.

"That's a mighty likely tale," says he. "When Mr. Dog no more than touched you before you keeled over and lay there stiff," says he.

"That's just what I was going to tell you about," says Br'er Possum. "I weren't no more skeered 'n you is now, and I was going to give Mr. Dog a sample of my jaw," says he, "but I'm the most ticklish chap that ever you set eyes on, and no sooner did Mr. Dog put his nose down among my ribs than I got to laughing, and I laugh till I hadn't no more use of my limbs," says he; "and it's a mercy for Mr. Dog that I _was_ ticklish, 'cause a little more and I'd have ate him up," says he. "I don't mind fighting, Br'er Coon, any more than you does, but I'm blessed if I can stand tickling. Get me in a row where there ain't no tickling allowed, and I'm your man," says he.

And to this day Br'er Possum's bound to surrender when you touch him in the short ribs, and he'll laugh even if he knows he's going to be smashed for it.

BR'ER FOX TACKLES OLD BR'ER TARRYPIN[Q]

One day Br'er Fox struck up with Br'er Tarrypin right in the middle of the big road. Br'er Tarrypin he heard Br'er Fox coming, and he say to hisself that he'd sort of better keep one eye open; but Br'er Fox was monstrous polite, and he begin, he did, and say he hadn't seen Br'er Tarrypin this ever so long.

"Hallo, Br'er Tarrypin, where you been this long-come-short?" says Br'er Fox, says he.

"Lounging round," says Br'er Tarrypin.

"You don't look sprucy, like you did, Br'er Tarrypin," says Br'er Fox.

"Lounging round and suffering," says Br'er Tarrypin, says he.

Then the talk sort of run on like this:

"What ails you, Br'er Tarrypin? Your eye look mighty red," says Br'er Fox.

"Lor, Br'er Fox, you dunno what trouble is. _You_ ain't been lounging round and suffering," says Br'er Tarrypin, says he.

"_Both_ eyes red, and you look like you is mighty weak, Br'er Tarrypin," says Br'er Fox, says he.

"Lor, Br'er Fox, you dunno what trouble is," says Br'er Tarrypin, says he.

"What ails you now?" says Br'er Fox.

"Took a walk the other day, and Mr. Man come along and set the field on fire. Lor, Br'er Fox, you dunno what trouble is," says Br'er Tarrypin, says he.

"How you get out of the fire, Br'er Tarrypin?" says Br'er Fox.

"Sat and took it, Br'er Fox," says Br'er Tarrypin, says he, "sat and took it; and the smoke got in my eye, and the fire scorched my back," says Br'er Tarrypin, says he.

"Likewise it burn your tail off," says Br'er Fox, says he.

"Oh, no, there's my tail, Br'er Fox," says Br'er Tarrypin, and with that he uncurl his tail from under his shell, and no sooner did he do that than Br'er Fox grab at it and holler out:

"Oh, yes, Br'er Terrapin! Oh, yes! And so you's the one what lam me on the head the other day, is you? You's in with Br'er Rabbit, is you? Well, I'm going to out you."

Br'er Tarrypin he beg and he beg, but it weren't no use. Then he beg Br'er Fox not to drown him. Br'er Fox ain't making no promise. Then he beg Br'er Fox to burn him, 'cause now he used to fire. Br'er Fox he say nothing. By-and-by Br'er Fox drag Br'er Tarrypin off little ways below the spring, and he souse him under the water.

Then Br'er Tarrypin he began to holler out:

"Turn loose that stump-root and catch hold of me!"

Br'er Fox he holler back:

"I ain't got hold of no stump-root, and I is got hold of you."

"Catch hold of me, I'm a-drowning--I'm a-drowning; turn loose that stump-root and catch hold of me!"

Sure enough, Br'er Fox turned loose Br'er Tarrypin's tail, and Br'er Tarrypin he went down to the bottom!

Was Br'er Tarrypin drowned, then? Not a bit of it. Is _you_ drowned when your mammy tucks you up in bed?

[Q] From "More Funny Stories About Br'er Rabbit," published by Stead's Publishing House, London, England, and used with their permission.

HOW COUSIN WILDCAT SERVED BR'ER FOX[R]

Br'er Rabbit and Br'er Fox had both been paying calls one evening at the same house. They sat there, and after a while Br'er Rabbit looked out, and said:

"Now then, folks and friends, I must say good-by. Cloud coming up yonder, and before we know it, the rain'll be a-pouring."

Then Br'er Fox he up and says he 'spects _he_ better be getting on, 'cause he doesn't want to get his Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes wet. So they set out.

While they were going down the big road, talking at one another, Br'er Fox he took and stopped, and said:

"Look here, Br'er Rabbit, look here! If my eyes don't deceive, here's the tracks where Mr. Dog's been along, and they're quite fresh!"

Br'er Rabbit he sidle up and look. Then he say:

"That there track ain't never fit Mr. Dog's foot. What's more," says he, "I been acquainted with him what made that track too long ago to talk about."

"Br'er Rabbit, please, sir, tell me his name."

Br'er Rabbit he laughs, as if he was making light of something or other.

"If I makes no mistakes, Br'er Fox, the poor creature what made that track is Cousin Wildcat; no more and no less."

"How big is he, Br'er Rabbit?"

"Just about your heft, Br'er Fox." Then Br'er Rabbit make like talking to himself. "Tut, tut, tut! To be sure, to be sure! Many and many's the times I see my old grand-daddy kick and cuff Cousin Wildcat. If you want some fun, Br'er Fox, now's the time."

Br'er Fox he up and axed how he's going to have any fun.

Br'er Rabbit he say: "Easy enough. Just go and tackle old Cousin Wildcat, and lam him round."

Br'er Fox he sorter scratch his ear, and say: "Eh, eh, Br'er Rabbit, I'm 'fraid. His track too much like Mr. Dog."

Br'er Rabbit he sat flat down in the road, and holler, and laugh. "Shoo, Br'er Fox!" says he, "who'd ha' thought you so skeery? Just come and look at these here tracks. Is there any sign of claw anywheres?"

Br'er Fox was obliged to agree that there weren't no sign of claw. Br'er Rabbit say: "Well, then, if he ain't got no claw, how's he going to hurt you, Br'er Fox?"

Br'er Fox took another good look at the track, and then he and Br'er Rabbit put out to follow it up.

They kept on and on, till by-and-by they ran up with the creature. Br'er Rabbit he holler out mighty biggity: "Hallo, there! what you doing?"

The creature look round, but he ain't saying nothing. Br'er Rabbit say: "Oh, you needn't look so sulky! We'll make you talk before we've done with you! Come, now, what you doing there?"

The creature rub hisself against a tree just as you see these here house cats rub against a chair, but he ain't saying nothing. Br'er Rabbit holler: "What you come bothering us for when we ain't been bothering you? You thinks I don't know who you is, but I does. I'll let you know I got a better man here than what my grand-daddy been, and I'll be bound he'll make you talk."

The creature leaned harder against the tree, and sort of ruffled up his bristles, but he ain't saying nothing. Br'er Rabbit he say: "Go up, Br'er Fox, and if he refuse to speak, slap him down. That's the way my grand-daddy did. If he dares to run, I'll just whirl in and catch him."

Br'er Fox he look sort of dubious, but he start toward the creature. Old Cousin Wildcat walk all round the tree rubbing hisself, but he ain't saying nothing. Br'er Fox he went up a little nigher. Cousin Wildcat stop rubbing on the tree, and sat upon his behind legs with his front paws in the air, and balances hisself by leaning against the tree, but he ain't saying nothing.

Br'er Rabbit he squall out: "Oh, you needn't put up your hands, and try and beg off. That's the way you fooled my old grand-daddy; but you can't fool me. All your sitting up and begging ain't going to help you. Hit him, Br'er Fox! If he runs, I'll catch him!"

Br'er Fox he sort of took heart. He sidled up toward him, and just as he was making ready to slap him, old Cousin Wildcat drew back, and fetched Br'er Fox a wipe across the stomach.

That there Cousin Wildcat fetched him a wipe across the stomach, and you might have heard him squall for miles and miles. Little more and the creature would have torn Br'er Fox in two. Once the creature made a pass at him, Br'er Rabbit knew what was going to happen, yet all the same he took and hollered:

"Hit him again, Br'er Fox! hit him again! I'm a-backing you, Br'er Fox! Hit him again!"

While Br'er Rabbit was going on in this way, Br'er Fox was squatting on the ground, holding his stomach with both hands and moaning:

"I'm ruined, Br'er Rabbit! I'm ruined! Fetch the doctor! I'm teetotally ruined!"

About this time Cousin Wildcat took and went for a walk. Br'er Rabbit make like he astonished that Br'er Fox is hurted. He took and examine the place, and he up and say: "It look to me, Br'er Fox, that that owdacious villain took and struck you with a reaping hook."

With that Br'er Rabbit lit out for home, and when he got out of sight he took and shook his hands, just like a cat when she gets the water on her foots. Then he laugh and laugh till he can laugh no more.

[R] From "More Funny Stories About Br'er Rabbit," published by Stead's Publishing House, London, England, and used with their permission.

PLANTATION STORIES

BY GRACE MACGOWAN COOKE

I.--MRS. PRAIRIE-DOG'S BOARDERS

Texas is a near-by land to the dwellers in the Southern States. Many of the poorer white people go there to mend their fortunes; and not a few of them come back from its plains, homesick for the mountains, and with these fortunes unmended. Daddy Laban, the half-breed, son of an Indian father and a negro mother, who sometimes visited Broadlands plantation, had been a wanderer; and his travels had carried him as far afield as the plains of southwestern Texas. The Randolph children liked, almost better than any others, the stories he brought home from these extensive travels.

"De prairie-dog a mighty cur'ous somebody," he began one day, when they asked him for a tale. "Hit lives in de ground, more samer dan a ground-hog. But dey ain't come out for wood nor water; an' some folks thinks dey goes plumb down to de springs what feeds wells. I has knowed dem what say dey go fur enough down to find a place to warm dey hands--but dat ain't de tale I'm tellin'.

"A long time ago, dey was a prairie-dog what was left a widder, an' she had a big fambly to keep up. 'Oh, landy!' she say to dem dat come to visit her in her 'fliction, 'what I gwine do to feed my chillen?'

"De most o' de varmints tell Miz. Prairie-Dog dat de onliest way for her to git along was to keep boarders. 'You got a good home, an' you is a good manager,' dey say; 'you bound to do well wid a boardin'-house.'

"Well, Miz. Prairie-Dog done sent out de runners to run, de fliers to fly, de crawlers to crawl, an' tell each an' every dat she sot up a boardin'-house. She say she got room for one crawler and one flier, an' dat she could take in a whole passel o' runners.

"Well, now you knows a flier 's a bird--or hit mought be a bat. Ef you was lookin' for little folks, hit mought be a butterfly. Miz. Prairie-Dog ain't find no fliers what wants to live un'neath de ground. But crawlers--bugs an' worms an' sich-like--dey mostly does live un'neath de ground, anyhow, an' de fust pusson what come seekin' house-room with Miz. Prairie-Dog was Brother Rattlesnake.

"'I dest been flooded out o' my own house,' Mr. Rattlesnake say; 'an' I like to look at your rooms an' see ef dey suits me.'

"'I show you de rooms,' Miz. Prairie-Dog tell 'im. 'I bound you gwine like 'em. I got room for one crawler, an' you could be him; but--'

"Miz. Prairie-Dog look at her chillen. She ain't say no more--dest look at dem prairie-dog gals an' boys, an' say no more.

"Mr. Rattlesnake ain't like bein' called a crawler so very well; but he looks at dem rooms, an' 'low he'll take 'em. Miz. Prairie-Dog got somethin' on her mind, an' 'fore de snake git away dat somethin' come out. 'I's shore an' certain dat you an' me can git along,' she say, 'ef--ef--ef you vow an' promish not to bite my chillen. I'll have yo' meals reg'lar, so dat you won't be tempted.'

"Old Mr. Rattlesnake' powerful high-tempered--yas, law, he sho' a mighty quick somebody on de trigger. Zip! he go off, dest like dat--zip! Br-r-r! 'Tempted!' he hiss at de prairie-dog woman. He look at dem prairie-dog boys an' gals what been makin' mud cakes all mornin' (an' dest about as dirty as you-all is after you do de same). 'Tempted,' he say. 'I should hope not.'

"For, mind you, Brother Rattlesnake is a genterman, an' belongs to de quality. He feels hisself a heap too biggity to bite prairie-dogs. So _dat_ turned out all right.

"De next what come to Miz. Prairie-Dog was a flier."

"A bird?" asked Patricia Randolph.

"Yes, little mistis," returned the old Indian. "One dese-hyer little, round, brown squinch-owls, what allers quakes an' quivers in dey speech an' walk. 'I gits so dizzy--izzy--wizzy! up in de top o' de trees,' de little brown owl say, as she swivel an' shake. 'An' I wanted to git me a home down on de ground, so dat I could be sure, an' double sure, dat I wouldn't fall. But dey is dem dat says ef I was down on de ground I might fall down a hole. Dat make me want to live in yo' house. Hit's down in de ground, ain't hit? Ef I git down in yo' house dey hain't no place for me to fall off of, an' fall down to, is dey?' she ax.

"Miz. Prairie-Dog been in de way o' fallin' down-stairs all her life; dat de onliest way she ever go inter her house--she fling up her hands an' laugh as you pass her by, and she drap back in de hole. But she tell de little brown owl dat dey ain't no place you could fall ef you go to de bottom eend o' her house. So, what wid a flier an' a crawler, an' de oldest prairie-dog boy workin' out, she manage to make tongue and buckle meet. I's went by a many a prairie-dog hole an' seen de owl an' de rattlesnake what boards wid Miz. Prairie-Dog. Ef you was to go to Texas you'd see de same. But nobody in dat neck o' woods ever knowed how dese folks come to live in one house."

"Who told _you_, Daddy Laban?" asked Pate Randolph.

"My Injun gran'mammy," returned the old man. "She told me a many a tale, when I lived wid my daddy's people on de Cherokee Res'vation. Sometime I gwine tell you 'bout de little fawn what her daddy ketched for her when she 's a little gal. But run home now, honey chillens, or yo' mammy done think Daddy Laban stole you an' carried you plumb away."

II.--SONNY BUNNY RABBIT'S GRANNY

Of all the animal stories which America, the nurse-girl, told to the children of Broadlands plantation, they liked best those about Sonny Bunny Rabbit.

"You listen now, Marse Pate an' Miss Patty an' my baby child, an' I gwine tell you de best tale yit, 'bout de rabbit," she said, one lazy summer afternoon when they were tired of playing marbles with china-berries.

"You see, de fox he mighty hongry all de time for rabbit meat; yit, at de same time, he 'fraid to buck up 'gainst a old rabbit, an' he always pesterin' after de young ones.

"Sonny Bunny Rabbit' granny was sick, an' Sonny Bunny Rabbit' mammy want to send her a mess o' sallet. She put it in a poke, an' hang de poke round de little rabbit boy's neck.

"'Now, my son,' she says, 'you tote dis sallet to yo' granny, an' don't stop to play wid none o' dey critters in de Big Woods.'

"'Yassum, mammy,' say Sonny Bunny Rabbit.

"'Don't you pass de time o' day wid no foxes,' say Mammy Rabbit.

"'Yassum, mammy,' say Sonny Bunny Rabbit.

"Dest as he was passin' some thick chinkapin bushes, up hop a big red fox an' told him howdy.

"'Howdy,' say Sonny Bunny Rabbit. He ain't study 'bout what his mammy tell him now. He 'bleege to stop an' make a miration at bein' noticed by sech a fine pusson as Mr. Fox. 'Hit's a fine day--an' mighty growin' weather, Mr. Fox.'

"'Hit am dat,' say de fox. 'Yaas, suh, hit sho'ly am dat. An' whar you puttin' out for, ef I mought ax?' he say, mighty slick an' easy.

"Now right dar," said America, impressively, "am whar dat little rabbit boy fergit his teachin'. He act like he ain't know nothin'--an ain't know dat right good. 'Stead o' sayin', 'I's gwine whar I's gwine--an' dat's whar I's gwine,' he answer right back: 'Dest 'cross de hill, suh. Won't you walk wid me, suh? Proud to have yo' company, suh.'

"'An' who-all is you gwine see on t' other side de hill?' ax Mr. Fox.

"'My granny,' answer Sonny Bunny Rabbit. 'I totin' dis sallet to her.'

"'Is yo' granny big?' ax de fox. 'Is yo' granny old?' he say. 'Is yo' granny mighty pore? Is yo' granny tough?' An' he ain't been nigh so slick an' sof' an' easy any mo' by dis time--he gittin' mighty hongry an' greedy.

"Right den an dere Sonny Bunny Rabbit wake up. Yaas, law! He come to he senses. He know mighty well an' good dat a pusson de size o' Mr. Fox ain't got no reason to ax ef he granny tough, less'n he want to git he teef in her. By dat he recomember what his mammy done told him. He look all 'bout. He ain't see no he'p nowhars. Den hit come in Sonny Bunny Rabbit' mind dat de boys on de farm done sot a trap down by de pastur' fence. Ef he kin git Mr. Fox to jump inter dat trap, his life done save.

"'Oh, my granny mighty big,' he say; 'but dat 's 'ca'se she so fat she cain't run. She hain't so mighty old, but she sleep all de time; an' I ain't know is she tough or not--you dest better come on an' find out,' he holler. Den he start off on er long, keen jump.

"Sonny Bunny Rabbit run as hard as he could. De fox run after, most nippin' his heels. Sonny Bunny Rabbit run by de place whar de fox-trap done sot, an' all kivered wid leaves an' trash, an' dar he le'p high in the air--an' over it. Mr. Fox ain't know dey ary trap in de grass; an', blam! he stuck he foot squar' in it!

"'Oh-ow-ow! Hi-hi-hi! Hi-yi! Yi-yi-yi!' bark de fox. 'Come back hyer, you rabbit trash, an' he'p me out o' dis trouble!' he holler.

"'Dat ain't no trouble,' say Sonny Bunny Rabbit, jumping high in de grass. 'Dat my granny, what I done told you 'bout. Ain't I say she so fat she cain't run? She dest love company so powerful well, dat I 'spect she holdin' on to you to hear you talk.'

"An' de fox talk," America giggled, as she looked about on her small audience.

ROBIN REDBREAST

There was once a hunter who had only one son, and when his son grew up he said to him: "My son, I am growing old, and you must hunt for me."

"Very well, father," said his son, and he took his father's bow and arrows and went out into the woods. But he was a dreamy boy, and forgot what he had come for, and spent the morning wondering at the beautiful flowers, and trees, and mosses, and hills, and valleys that he saw. When he saw a bird on a tree, he forgot that he had come to shoot it, and lay listening to its song; and when he saw a deer come down to drink at the stream he put down his bow and arrows and began to talk to the deer in the deer's own language. At last he saw that the sun was setting. Then he looked round for his bow and arrows, and they were gone!

When he got home to the wigwam, his father met him at the door and said: "My son, you have had a long day's hunting. Have you killed so much that you had to leave it in the woods? Let us go and fetch it together."

The young man looked very much ashamed of himself, and said: "Father, I forgot all about the hunting. The woods, and the sky, and the flowers, and the birds, and the beasts were so interesting that I forgot all about what you had sent me to do."

His father was in a terrible rage with him, and in the morning he sent him out again, with new bow and arrows, saying: "Take care that you don't forget this time."

The son went along saying to himself: "I mustn't forget, I mustn't forget, I mustn't forget." But as soon as a bird flew across the path he forgot all about what his father had said, and called to the bird in the bird's own language, and the bird came and sat on the tree above him, and sang to him so beautifully all day that the young man sat as if he was dreaming till sunset.

"Oh dear!" said the young man, "what shall I do? My father will kill me if I go back without anything to eat."

"Never mind," said the bird; "if he kills you, we shall give you feathers and paint, and you can fly away and be a bird like ourselves."

When the young man reached the village he scarcely dared to go near his father's wigwam; but his father saw him coming, and ran to meet him, calling out in a hurry; "What have you brought? What have you brought?"

"I have brought nothing, father; nothing at all," said the boy.

His father was angrier than ever, and in the morning he said: "Come with me. No more bow and arrows for you, and not a bite to eat, till I have taught you to be a hunter like any other good Indian." So he took his son into the middle of the forest, and there built for him a little wigwam, with no door, only a little hole in the side.

"There!" said his father, when the young man was inside, and the wigwam was laced up tight. "When you have lived and fasted in this wigwam for twelve days, the spirit of a hunter will come into you."

Every day the young man's father came to see him, and every day the young man begged for food, till at last, on the tenth day, he could only beg in a whisper.

"No!" said his father. "In two days more you can both hunt and eat."

On the eleventh day, when the father came and spoke to his son, he got no answer. Looking through the hole, he saw the lad lying as if he was dead on the ground; but when he called out aloud his son awoke, and whispered: "Father, bring me food! Give me some food!"

"No," said his father. "You have only one day more to wait. To-morrow you will hunt and eat." And he went away home to the village.

On the twelfth day the father came loaded with meal and meat. As he came near to the wigwam he heard a curious chirping sound, and when he looked through the hole in the wigwam he saw his son standing up inside, and painting his breast with bright red paint.

"What are you doing, my son? Come and eat! Here is meal and meat for you. Come and eat and hunt like a good Indian."

But the son could only reply in a chirping little voice: "It is too late, father. You have killed me at last, and now I am becoming a bird." And as he spoke he turned into the o-pe-che--the robin redbreast--and flew out of the hole and away to join the other birds; but he never flew very far from where men live.

The cruel father set out to go back to his wigwam; but he could never find the village again, and after he had wandered about a long time he lay down in the forest and died; and soon afterward the redbreast found him, and buried him under a heap of dry leaves. Every year after that, when the time of the hunter's fast came round, the redbreast perched on his father's empty wigwam and sang the song of the dead.

THE THREE WISHES