Part 2

“Don’t pester it, honey, kaze it’s yo’ granma’s, an’ ’twant yo’ granma dat had you shot up in dar. No, suh, not her--never in de roun’ worl’.”

The little prisoner sighed, but said nothing. He was not a talkative chap; he had been taught that it is impolite to ask questions, and as a child’s conversation must necessarily be made up of questions, he had little to say. Uncle Remus found a rake leaning against the chimney. This he took and examined critically, and found that one of the teeth was broken out. “Now, I wonder who could ’a’ done dat!” he exclaimed. “Sholy nobody wouldn’t ’a’ come ’long an’ knock de toof out des fer fun. Ef de times wuz diffunt, I’d say dat a cricket hauled off an’ kicked it out wid one er his behime legs. But times done change; dey done change so dat when I turn my head an’ look back’erds, I hatter ketch my breff I gits so skeer’d. Dey done been sech a change dat de crickets ain’t dast ter kick sence ol’ Grandaddy Cricket had his great kickin’ match. I laid off fer ter tell you ’bout it when we wuz gwine atter dat load er corn dat’s waitin’ fer us; but stidder gwine atter corn, here you is settin’ in de parlor countin’ out yo’ money.” Uncle Remus came close to the window and looked in. “Ol’ Miss useter keep de Bible on de table dar--yasser! dar ’tis, de same ol’ Bible dat’s been in de fambly sence de year one. You better git it down, honey, an’ read dat ar piece ’bout de projickin’ son, kaze ef dey shet you up in de parlor now, dey’ll hatter put you in jail time youer ten year ol’.”

This remark was intended for the ear of the young mother, who had come into the front yard searching for roses. Uncle Remus had seen her from the corner of his eye, and he determined to talk so she could hear and understand.

“But what will they put me in jail for?” the child asked.

“What dey put you in dar fer? Kaze you wipe yo’ mouf on yo’ sleeve. Well, when you git a little bigger, you’ll say ter yo’se’f, ‘Dey shet me in de parlor fer nothin’, an’ now I’ll see ef dey ’ll put me in jail fer sump’n’; an’ den you’ll make a mouf at de gov’ner up dar in Atlanta--I know right whar his house is--an’ dey’ll slap you in jail an’ never ax yo’ name ner whar you come fum. Dat’s de way dey does in dat town, kaze I done been dar an’ see der carryin’s on.”

“I believe I’ll try it when I go back home,” said the little lad.

“Co’se you will,” Uncle Remus assented, “an’ you’ll be glad fer ter git in jail atter bein’ in a parlor what de sun ain’t shine in sence de war. You come down here fer ter git strong an’ well, an’ here you is in de dampest room in de house. You’ll git well--oh, yes! I see you well right now, speshually atter you done had de croup an’ de pneumony, an’ de browncreeturs.”

“There’s mother,” said the little boy under his breath.

“I wish ’twuz yo’ daddy!” Uncle Remus replied. “I’d gi’ ’im a piece er my min’ ez long ez a waggin tongue.”

But the young mother never heard this remark. She had felt she was doing wrong when she banished the child to the parlor for a trivial fault, and now she made haste to undo it. She ran into the house and released the little boy, and told him to run to play. “Thank you, mother,” he said courteously, and then when he disappeared, what should the young mother do but cry?

The child, however, was very far from crying. He ran around to the front yard just in time to meet Uncle Remus as he came out. He seized the old darky’s hand and went skipping along by his side. “You put me in min’ er ol’ Grandaddy Cricket ’bout de time he had his big kickin’ match. He sho wuz lively.”

“That was just what I was going to ask you about,” said the child enthusiastically, for his instinct told him that Uncle Remus’s remarks about Grandaddy Cricket were intended to lead up to a story. When they had both climbed into the wagon, and were well on their way to the Wood Lot, where the surplus corn had been temporarily stored, the old man, after some preliminaries, such as looking in his hat to see if he had lost his hankcher, as he called it, and inquiring of the horses if they knew where they were going and what they were going after, suddenly turned to the child with a question: “Ain’t I hear you ax me ’bout sump’n n’er, honey? I’m gittin’ so ol’ an’ wobbly dat it seem like I’m deaf, yit ef anybody wuz ter call me ter dinner, I speck I could hear um a mile off ef dey so much ez whispered it.”

“Yes,” the child replied. “It was about old Grandaddy Cricket. I thought maybe you knew something about him.”

“Who? Me, honey? Why, my great-grandaddy’s great-grandaddy live nex’ door ter whar ol’ Grandaddy Cricket live at. Folks is lots littler now dan what dey wuz in dem days, an’ likewize de creeturs, an’ de creepin’ an’ crawlin’ things. My grandaddy say dat his great-grandaddy would make two men like him, an’ my grandaddy wuz a monst’us big man, dey ain’t no two ways ’bout dat. It seems like dat folks is swunk up. My grandaddy’s great-grandaddy say it’s kaze dey done quit eatin’ raw meat.

“I can’t tell you ’bout dat myself, but my great-grandaddy’s great-great-grandaddy could eat a whole steer in two days, horn an’ huff, an’ dem what tol’ me ain’t make no brags ’bout it; dey done like dey’d seen it happen nine times a mont’ off an’ on fer forty year er mo’. Well, den,” Uncle Remus went on, looking at the little chap to see if he was swallowing the story with a good digestion--“well, den, dat bein’ de case, it stan’s ter reason dat de creeturs an’ de crawlin’ an’ creepin’ things wuz lots bigger dan what dey is now. Dey had bigger houses, ef dey had any ’tall, an’ ef dey had bigger houses dey must ’a’ had bigger chimbleys.

“So den, all dat bein’ settle’, I’m gwine tell yo’ ’bout ol’ Grandaddy Cricket. He must ’a’ been a grandaddy long ’bout de time dat my great-grandaddy’s great-grandaddy wuz workin’ for his great-grandaddy. Howsomever dat mought be, ol’ Grandaddy Cricket wuz on han’, an’ fum all I hear he wuz bigger dan a middlin’-size goat. All endurin’ er de hot weather, he’d stay out in de woods wid his fife an’ his fiddle, an’ I speck he had great times. One day he’d fiddle fer de fishes fer ter dance, an’ de nex’ he’d l’arn de young birds how ter whistle wid his fife. Day in an’ day out he frolicked an’ had his fun, but bimeby de weather ’gun ter git cool an’ de days ’gun ter git shorter, an’ ol’ Grandaddy Cricket hatter keep his han’s in his pockets fum soon in de mornin’ twel ten o’clock. An’ ’long ’bout de time when de sun start down hill, he’d hatter put his fiddle under his arm an’ his fife in his side-pocket.

“Dis wuz bad nuff, but wuss come. It got so col’ dat Grandaddy Cricket can’t skacely walk twel de sun wuz shinin’ right over ’im. Mo’ dan dat, he ’gun ter git hongry and stay hongry. Ef yu’d ’a’ seed ’im in de hot weather, fiddlin’ an’ dancin’, an’ fifin’ an’ prancin’, you’d ’a’ thunk dat he had a stack er vittles put by ez big ez de barn back yander; but bimeby it got so cold dat he know sump’n got ter be done. He know sump’n got ter be done, but how er when he couldn’t ’a’ tol’ you ef it had ’a’ been de las’ ac’. He went ’long, creepin’ an’ crawlin’ fum post ter pillar, an’ he ’membered de days when he went wid a hop, skip an’ a jump, but he wuz too col’ fer ter cry.

“He crope along, tryin’ ter keep on de sunny side er de worl’, twel bimeby, one day he seed smoke a-risin’ way off yander, an’ he know’d mighty well dat whar der’s smoke dey bleeze ter be fire. He crope an’ he crawled, an’ bimeby he come close nuff ter de smoke fer ter see dat it wuz comin’ out’n a chimbley dat’d been built on one ’een uv a house. ’Twant like de houses what you see up yander in Atlanty, kaze ’twuz made out er logs, an’ de chink ’twix’ de logs wuz stopped up wid red clay. De chimbley wuz made out’n sticks an’ stones an’ mud.

“Grandaddy Cricket wuz forty-lev’m times bigger dan what his fambly is deze days, but he wan’t so big dat he couldn’t crawl un’ de house, kaze ’twuz propped up on pillars. So un’ de house he went an’ scrouge close ter de chimbley fer ter see ef he can’t git some er de warmf, but, bless you, it ’uz stone col’. Ef it had ’a’ been like de chimbleys is deze days, ol’ Grandaddy Cricket would ’a’ friz stiff, but ’twuz plain, eve’yday mud plastered on some sticks laid crossways. ’Twuz hard fer ol’ Grandaddy Cricket fer ter work his way inter de chimbley, but harder fer ter stay out ’n de col’--so he sot in ter work. He gnyawed an’ he sawed, he scratched an’ he clawed, he pushed an’ he gouged, an’ he shoved an’ he scrouged, twel, bimeby, he got whar he could feel some er de warmf er de fire, an’ ’twant long ’fo’ he wuz feelin’ fine. He snickered ter hisse’f when he hear de win’ whistlin’ roun’ de cornders, an’ blowin’ des like it come right fresh fum de place whar de ice-bugs live at.”

The little boy laughed and placed his hand caressingly on Uncle Remus’s knee. “You mean ice-bergs, Uncle Remus,” he said.

“Nigh ez I kin ’member,” replied the old darky, with affected dignity, “ice-bugs is what I meant. I tell you dat p’intedly. What I know ’bout ice-berrigs?”

The little lad eyed the old darky curiously, but said nothing more for some time. Uncle Remus regarded him from the corner of his eye and smiled, for this was a little chap whose ways he was yet to understand. Finally, he took up the thread of his story. “It’s des like I tell you, honey; he ain’t no sooner git thawed out dan he ’gun ter feel good. Dey wuz some cracks an’ crannies in de h’ath er de fireplace, an’ when de chillun eat der mush an’ milk, some er de crum’s ’ud sift thoo de h’ath. Ol’ Grandaddy Cricket smelt um, an’ felt um, an’ helt um, an’ atter dat you couldn’t make ’im b’lieve dat he wan’t in hog-heav’m.

“De place whar he wuz at wa’n’t roomy nuff fer fiddlin’, but he tuck out his fife an’ ’gun ter play on it, an’ ev’y time he hear a noise he’d cut de chune short. He’d blow a little an’ den break off, but take de day ez it come, he put in a right smart lot er fifin’. When night come, an’ ev’ything wuz dark down dar whar he wuz at, he des turned hisse’f loose. De chillun in de house, dey des lis’en an’ laugh, but dey daddy shake his head an’ look sour. Dey wan’t no crickets in de country whar he come fum, an’ he wan’t usen ter um. But de mammy er de chillun ain’t pay no ’tention ter de fifin’; she des went on ’bout her business like dey ain’t no cricket in de roun’ worl’. Ol’ Grandaddy Cricket he fifed an’ fifed des like he wuz doin’ it fer pay. He played de chillun off ter bed an’ played um ter sleep; he played twel de ol’ man got ter nid-nid-noddin’ by de fire; he played twel dey all went ter bed ’cep’ de mammy, an’ he played whiles she sot by de h’ath, an’ dremp ’bout de times when she wuz a gal--de ol’ times dat make de gran’-chillun feel so funny when dey hear tell ’bout um.

“Night atter night de fifin’ went on, an’ bimeby de man ’gun ter git tired. De ’oman, she say dat de crickets brung good luck, but de man, he say he’d druther have mo’ luck an’ less fifin’. So he holler down thoo de crack in de h’ath, an’ tell ol’ Grandaddy Cricket fer ter hush his fuss er change his chune. But de fifin’ went on. De man holler down an’ say dat ef de fifin’ don’t stop, he gwine ter pour b’ilin’ water on de fifer. Ol’ Grandaddy Cricket holler back:

_“‘Hot water will turn me brown,_ _An’ den I’ll kick yo’ chimbley down.’_

“De man, he grin, he did, an’ den he put de kittle on de fire an’ kep’ it dar twel de water ’gun ter b’ile, an’ den, whiles de fifin’ wuz at de loudest, he tuck de kittle an’ tilted it so de scaldin’ water will run down thoo de cracks, an’ den de fust thing he know’d he ain’t know nothin’, kaze de water weakened de clay an’ de h’ath fell in an’ ol’ Grandaddy Cricket sot in ter kickin’ an’ de chimbley come down, it did, an’ bury de man, an’ when dey got ’im out, he wuz one-eyed an’ splay-footed.

“De ’oman an’ de chillun ain’t skacely know ’im. Dey hatter ax ’im his name, an’ whar he come fum, an’ how ol’ he wuz; an’ atter he satchified um dat he wuz de same man what been livin’ dar all de time, de ’oman say, ‘Ain’t I tell you dat crickets fetch good luck?’ An’ de man, he ’low, ‘Does you call dis good luck?’”

“What became of the cricket?” asked the little boy, after a long pause, during which Uncle Remus appeared to be thinking about other things.

“Oh!” exclaimed the old darky. “Dat’s so! I ain’t tol’ you, is I? Well, ol’ Grandaddy Cricket kicked so hard, an’ kicked so high, dat he onj’inted bofe his legs, an’ when he crawled out fum de chimbley, his elbows wuz whar his knees oughter be at.”

“But it was cold weather,” suggested the little boy. “Where did he go when he kicked the chimney down?”

Uncle Remus smiled as he took another chew of tobacco. “Dey wa’n’t but one thing he could do,” he replied; “he went on ter nex’ house an’ got in de chimbley an’ he been livin’ in chimbleys off an’ on down ter dis day an’ time.”

II

HOW WILEY WOLF RODE IN THE BAG

Uncle Remus soon had the wagon loaded with corn, and he and the little boy started back home. The plantation road was not a good one to begin with, and the spring rains had not improved it. Consequently there were times when Uncle Remus deemed it prudent to get out of the wagon and walk. The horses were fat and strong, to be sure, but some of the small hills were very steep, so much so that the old darky had to guide the team first to the right and then to the left in order to overcome the sheer grade. In other words, he had to see-saw as he explained to the little boy. “Drive um straight up, an’ dey fall back,” he explained, “but on de see-saw dey fergits dat deyer gwine uphill.”

All this was Dutch to the little boy, who knew nothing about driving horses, but he had been well trained, and so he said, “Yes, that is so.” The last time that Uncle Remus had to vacate the driver’s seat in order to relieve the horses of his weight, he stumbled into a ditch that had been dug on the side of the road to prevent the rains from washing it into gullies. He recovered himself immediately, but not before he had startled a little rabbit, which ran on ahead of the horses for a considerable distance. Instinct came to its aid after a while, and it darted into the underbrush which grew profusely on both sides of the road.

Before the little rabbit disappeared, however, Uncle Remus had time to give utterance to a hunting halloo that aroused the echoes all around and made the little boy jump, for he was not used to this sort of thing. “I declar’ ter gracious ef it don’t put me in min’ er ol’ times--de times dey tell ’bout in de tales dat been handed down. Ef dat little rab had ’a’ been five times ez big ez he is, an’ twice ez young, I’d ’a’ thunk we’d done got back ter de days when my great-grandaddy’s great-grandaddy lived. You mayn’t b’lieve me, but ef you’ll count fum de time when my great-grandaddy’s great-grandaddy wuz born’d down ter dis minnit, you’ll fin’ dat youer lookin’ back on many a long year, an’ a mighty heap er Chris’mus-come-an’-gone.

“You may think dat deze times is de bes’; well, den, you kin have um ef you’ll des gi’ me de ol’ times when de nights wuz long an’ de days short, wid plenty er wood on de fire, an’ taters an’ ashcake in de embers. Han’ um here!” Uncle Remus held out his hand as if he thought the little chap had the old times and the ashcakes and the roasted potatoes in his pocket. “Den you ain’t got um,” he went on, as the child drew away and pretended to hold his pocket tight; “you ain’t got um, an’ you can’t git um. I done been had um, but I got ter nippy-nappin’ one night, an’ some un come ’long an’ tuck um--some nigger man, I speck, kaze dey wuz a big fat ’possum mixed up wid um, an’ a heap er yuther things liable fer ter make a nigger’s mouf water. Yasser! dey tuck um right away fum me, an’ I ain’t seed um sence; an’ maybe ef I wuz ter see um I wouldn’t know um.”

“Were the rabbits very large in old times?” inquired the little boy.

“Dey mought er been runts in de fambly,” replied Uncle Remus cautiously, “but fum all I kin hear fum dem what know’d, ol’ Brer Rabbit wuz a sight bigger dan any er de rabbits you see deze days.”

Uncle Remus paused to give the little boy an opportunity to make some comment, or ask such questions as occurred to him, as the other little boy had been so ready to do; but he said nothing. It seemed that his curiosity had been satisfied, and yet he wanted very much to hear a story such as Uncle Remus had been in the habit of telling his father when he was the little boy. But he had been so rigidly trained to silence in the presence of his elders that he hesitated about making his desires known.

The old negro, however, was so accustomed to anticipating the wants of children, especially those in whom he took an interest, that he knew perfectly well what the little boy wanted. The child’s attitude was expectant, even if his lips refused to give form to his thoughts. This sort of thing--the old negro could give it no name--was so new to Uncle Remus that he chuckled, and presently the chuckle developed into a hearty laugh.

The little boy regarded him with surprise. “Are you laughing at me, Uncle Remus?” he inquired, after some hesitation.

“Why, honey, what put dat idee in yo’ head? What I gwineter laugh at you fer? Ef you wuz a little bigger, I might laugh at you, des ter see how you’d take it. Ef you want me ter laugh at you, you’ll hatter do some growin’.”

“Grandmother says I’m a big boy,” said the child.

“Fer yo’ age an’ size, youer right smart chunk uv a boy,” assented Uncle Remus, “but you’ll hatter be lots bigger dan what you is ’fo’ I laugh at you. No, suh; I wuz gigglin’ at de way Brer Rabbit got away wid ol’ Brer Wolf endurin’ er de time when der chillun played tergedder; an’ dat little rabbit dat run ’cross de road put me in min’ un it. I bet ef I’d ’a’ been dar, I’d ’a’ done mo’ dan laugh--I’d ’a’ holler’d. Yasser, dey ain’t no two ways ’bout it--I’d ’a’ des flung back my head an’ ’a’ fetched a whoop dat you could ’a’ hearn fum here ter de big house. Dat’s what I’d ’a’ done.”

“It must have been very funny, then,” remarked the little boy.

Uncle Remus looked at the child with a serious face. Surely something must be wrong with him. And yet he was still expectant--expectant and patient. The old negro had never had dealings with such a youngster as this, and he was not in the habit of telling stories “des dry so,” as he put it; so he went at it in a new, but still a characteristic, way. “Ef yo’ pa had ’a’ been settin’ wha you settin’ he wouldn’t gi’ me no peace twel I tol’ ’im zackly what I wuz laughin’ ’bout; an’ he’d ’a’ pestered me wid his inquirements twel he foun’ out all about it. Does he pester you dat a-way, honey? Kaze ef he does, I’ll tell you de way ter fetch ’im up wid a roun’ turn; des tell ’im you gwineter tell his mammy on him, an’ I bet you he won’t pester you much atter dat.”

This tickled the little boy very much. The idea of asking his grandmother to make his father stop bothering him was so new and so ridiculous that he laughed unrestrainedly.

“De minnit dat little rab jumped out’n de bushes,” Uncle Remus went on, apparently paying no attention to the child’s laughter, “it put me in min’ er de time when ol’ Brer Rabbit had a lot er chillun an’ gran’chillun pirootin’ roun’ de neighborhoods whar he live at. Dey mought ’a’ not been any gran’chillun in de bunch, but dey wuz plenty er chillun, bofe young an’ ol’.

“Brer Rabbit ’ud move sometimes des like de folks does deze days, speshually up dar in ’Lantmatantarum, whar you come fum.” The little boy smiled at this new name for Atlanta, and snuggled a little closer to Uncle Remus, for the old man had, with this one word, entered the fields that belong to childhood. “He’d move, but mos’ allers he’d take a notion fer ter come back ter his ol’ home. Sometimes he hatter move, de yuther creeturs pursued atter ’im so close, but dey allers got de ragged en’ er de pursuin’, an’ dey wuz times when dey’d be right neighborly wid ’im.

“’Twuz ’bout de time dat Brer Wolf had kinder made up his min’ dat he can’t outdo Brer Rabbit, no way he kin fix it, an’ he say ter hisse’f dat he better let ’im ’lone twel he kin git ’im in a corner whar he can’t git out. So Brer Wolf, he live wid his fambly on one side de road, an’ Brer Rabbit live wid his fambly on de yuther side, not close nuff fer ter quoil ’bout de fence line, an’ yit close nuff fer der youngest chillun ter play tergedder whiles de ol’ folks wuz payin’ der Sunday calls.

“It went on an’ went on dis way twel it look like Brer Rabbit done fergit how ter play tricks on his neighbors an’ Brer Wolf done disremember’d dat he yever is try fer ter ketch Brer Rabbit fer meat fer his fambly. One Sunday in speshual, dey wuz mighty frien’ly. It wuz Brer Rabbit’s time fer ter call on Brer Wolf, an’ bofe un um wuz settin’ up in de porch des ez natchal ez life. Brer Rabbit wuz chawin’ his terbacker an’ spittin’ over de railin’ an’ Brer Wolf wuz grinnin’ ’bout ol’ times, an’ pickin’ his toofies, which dey look mighty white an’ sharp. Dey wuz settin’ up dar, dey wuz, des ez thick ez fleas on a dog’s back, an’ lookin’ like butter won’t melt in der mouf.

“An’ whiles dey wuz settin’ dar, little Wiley Wolf an’ Riley Rabbit wuz playin’ in de yard des like chillun will. Dey run an’ dey romped, dey frisk an’ dey frolic, dey jump an’ dey hump, dey hide an’ dey slide, an’ it look like dey had mo’ fun dan a mule kin pull in a waggin. Little Wiley Wolf, he’d run atter Riley Rabbit, an’ den Riley Rabbit ’ud run atter Wiley Wolf, an’ here dey had it up an’ down an’ roun’ an’ roun’, twel it look like dey’d run deyse’f ter death. ’Bout de time you’d think dey bleeze ter drap, one un um would holler out, ‘King’s Excuse!’ an’ in dem days, when you say dat, nobody can’t ketch you, it ain’t make no diffunce who, kaze ef dey dast ter lay han’s on you atter you say dat, dey could be tuck ter de place whar dey done der judgin’, an ef dey wa’n’t mighty sharp dey’d git put in jail.

“Now, whiles Wiley Wolf an’ Riley Rabbit wuz havin’ der fun, der daddies wuz bleeze ter hear de racket what dey make, an’ see de dus’ dey raise. Dey squealed an’ dey squalled, an’ ripped aroun’ twel you’d a thunk dey wuz a good size whirlywin’ blowin’ in de yard. Brer Rabbit chaw’d his terbacker right slow an’ shot one eye, an’ ol’ Brer Wolf lick his chops an’ grin. Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘De youngsters is gittin’ mighty familious,’ an’ ol Brer Wolf say, ‘Dey is indeedy, an’ I hope dey’ll keep it up. You know how we useter be, Brer Rabbit; we wuz constant a-playin’ tricks on one an’er, an’ it lookt like we wuz allers at outs. I hope de young uns’ll have better manners!’

“Dey sot dar, dey did, talkin’ ’bout ol’ times, twel de sun got low, an’ de visitin’ had ter be cut short. Brer Rabbit say dat he had ter cut some kindlin’ so his ol’ ’oman kin git supper, an’ Brer Wolf ’low dat he allers cut his kindlin’ on Sat’day so he kin have all Sunday ter hisse’f, an’ smoke his pipe in peace. He went a piece er de way wid Brer Rabbit, an’ Wiley Wolf, he come, too, an’ him an’ Riley Rabbit had all sorts uv a time atter dey got in de big road. Dey wuz bushes on bofe sides, an’ dey kep’ up der game er hide an’ seek des ez fur ez Brer Wolf went, but bimeby, he say he gone fur nuff, an’ he say he hope Brer Rabbit’ll come ag’in right soon, an’ let Riley come an’ play wid Wiley endurin’ er de week.

“Not ter be outdone, Brer Rabbit invite Brer Wolf fer ter come an’ see him, an’ likewise ter let Wiley come an’ play wid Riley. ‘Dey ain’t nothin’ but chillun,’ sezee, ‘an’ look like dey done tuck a likin’ ter one an’er.’