Part 4

“It’s a mighty purty tale,” he said. “It’s so purty dat you dunner whedder ter b’lieve it er not. Yit I speck it’s so, kaze one time in forty-lev’m hundred matters will turn out right een’ upperds. Now, de creeturs never had no godm’ers; dey des hatter scuffle an’ scramble an’ git ’long de bes’ way dey kin.”

“But they were very cruel,” remarked the little boy, “and they told stories.”

“When it come ter dat,” Uncle Remus replied, “de creeturs ain’t much ahead er folks, an’ yit folks is got preachers fer ter tell um when deyer gwine wrong. Mo’ dan dat, dey got de Bible; an’ yit when you git a little older, you’ll wake up some fine day an’ say ter yo’se’f dat de creeturs is got de ’vantage er folks, spite er de fack dat dey ain’t know de diffunce ’twix’ right an’ wrong. Dey got ter live ’cordin’ ter der natur’, kaze dey ain’t know no better. I had in min’ a tale ’bout Brer Rabbit an’ de chickens, but I speck it’d hurt you’ feelin’s.”

The little boy said nothing for some time; he was evidently expecting Uncle Remus to go ahead with his story. But he was mistaken about this, for when the old man broke the silence, it was to speak of something trivial or commonplace. The child, in spite of the training to which he had been subjected, retained his boy’s nature. “Uncle Remus,” he said, “what about Brother Rabbit and the chickens?”

“Which Brer Rabbit wuz dat, honey?” he asked with apparent surprise.

“You said something about Brother Rabbit and the chickens.”

“Who? Me? I mought er said sump’n ’bout um day ’fo’ yistiddy, but it done gone off ’n my min’. I done got so ol’ dat my min’ flutters like a bird in de bush.”

“Why, you said that there was a tale about Brother Rabbit and the chickens, but if you told it, my feelings would be hurt. You must think I am a girl.”

Uncle Remus laughed. “Not ez bad ez dat, honey; but I’m fear’d youer monstous tetchous. I’ll tell you de tale, an’ den you kin tell it ter yo’ pa, kaze it’s one he ain’t never hear tell ’bout.

“Well, den, one time, ’way back yander dey wuz a man what live neighbor ter de creeturs. Dey wa’n’t nothin’ quare ’bout dis Mr. Man; he wuz des a plain, eve’yday kinder man, an’ he try ter git ’long de best he kin. He ain’t had no easy time, needer, kaze ’twant den like ’tis now, when you kin take yo’ cotton er yo’ corn ter town an’ have de money planked down fer you.

“In dem times dey wa’n’t no town, an’ not much money. What folks dey wuz hatter git ’long by swappin’ an’ traffickin’. How dey done it, I’ll never tell you, but do it dey did, an’ it seem like dey wuz in about ez happy ez folks is deze days.

“Well, dish yer Mr. Man what I’m a-tellin’ you ’bout, he had a truck patch, an’ a roas’in’-year patch, an’ a goober patch. He grow’d wheat an’ barley, an’ likewise rye, an’ kiss de gals an’ make um cry. An’ on top er dat, he had a whole yard full er chickens, an’ dar’s whar de trouble come in. In dem times, all er de creeturs wuz meat-eaters, an’ twuz in about ez much ez dey kin do, an’ sometimes a little mo’, fer ter git ’long so dey won’t go ter bed hongry. Dey got in de habit er bein’ hongry, an’ dey ain’t never git over it. Look at Brer Wolf--gaunt; look at Brer Fox--gaunt! Dey ain’t never been able fer ter make deyse’f fat.

“So den, ez you see um now, dat de way dey wuz in dem days, an’ a little mo’ so. Mr. Man, he had chickens, des like I tell you. Hens ez plump ez a pa’tridge; pullets so slick dey’d make yo’ mouf water, an’ fryin’-size chickens dat look like dey want ter git right in de pan. Now, when dat’s de case, what you reckon gwineter happen? Brer Wolf want chicken, Brer Fox want chicken, an’ Brer Rabbit want chicken. An’ dey ain’t got nothin’ what dey kin swap fer um. In deze days dey’d be called po’, but I take notice dat po’ folks gits des ez hongry ez de rich uns--an’ hongrier, when it comes ter dat; yes, Lord! lots hongrier.

“Well, de creeturs got mighty frien’ly wid Mr. Man. Dey’d call on ’im, speshually on Sundays, an’ he ain’t had no better sense dan ter cluck up his chickens des ter show um what a nice passel he had. When dis happen, Brer Wolf under-jaw would trimble, an’ Brer Fox would dribble at de mouf same ez a baby what cuttin’ his toofies. Ez fer Brer Rabbit, he’d des laugh, an’ nobody ain’t know what he laughin’ at. It went on dis way twel it look like natur’ can’t stan’ it, an’ den, bimeby, one night when de moon ain’t shinin’, Brer Rabbit take a notion dat he’d call on Mr. Man; but when he got ter de place, Mr. Man done gone ter bed. De lights wuz all out, an’ de dog wuz quiled up un’ de house soun’ asleep.

“Brer Rabbit shake his head. He ’low, ‘Sholy dey’s sump’n wrong, kaze allers, when I come, Mr. Man call up his chickens whar I kin look at um.’ I dunner what de matter wid ’im. An’ I don’t see no chickens, needer. I boun’ you sump’n done happen, an’ nobody ain’t tell me de news, kaze dey know how sorry I’d be. Ef I could git in de house, I’d go in dar an’ see ef ever’thing is all right; but I can’t git in.’

“He walk all ’roun’, he did, but he ain’t see nobody. He wuz so skeer’d he’d wake um up dat he walk on his tippy-toes. He ’low, ‘Ef Mr. Man know’d I wuz here, he’d come out an’ show me his chickens, an’ I des might ez well look in an’ see ef deyer all right.’ Wid dat he went ter de chicken-house an’ peep in, but he can’t see nothin’. He went ter de door, an’ foun’ it onlocked. Brer Rabbit grin, he did, an’ ’low, ‘Mr. Man mos’ know’d dat I’d be ’long some time ter-day, an’ done gone an’ lef’ his chicken-house open so I kin see his pullets--an’ he know’d dat ef I can’t see um, I’d wanter feel um fer ter see how slick an’ purty dey is.’

“Brer Rabbit slap hisse’f on de leg an’ laugh fit ter kill. He ain’t make fuss nuff fer ter wake Mr. Man, but he woke de fat hens an’ de slick pullets, an’ dey ax one an’er what de name er goodness is de matter. Brer Rabbit laugh an’ say ter hisse’f dat ef he’d ’a’ brung a bag, it’d make a good overcoat fer four er five er de fat hens, an’ six er sev’m er de slick pullets. Den he ’low, ‘Why, what is I thinkin’ ’bout? I got a bag in my han’, an’ I fergit dat I had it. It’s mighty lucky fer de chickens dat I fotch it, kaze a little mo’--an’ dey’d ’a’ been friz stiff!’ So he scoop in de bag ez many ez he kin tote. He ’low, ‘I’ll take um home an’ kinder git um warm, an’ ter-morrer Mr. Man kin have um back--ef he want um.’ an’ wid dat he mighty nigh choke hisse’f tryin’ fer ter keep fum laughin’. De chickens kinder flutter, but dey ain’t make much fuss, an’ Brer Rabbit flung de sack ’cross his shoulders an’ went off home des ez gayly ez a colt in a barley patch.”

“Wouldn’t you call that stealing, Uncle Remus?” inquired the little boy very seriously.

“Ef Brer Rabbit had ’a’ been folks, it’d be called stealin’, but you know mighty well dat de creeturs dunno de diffunce ’twix’ takin’ an’ stealin’. When it come ter dat, dey’s a-plenty folks dat ain’t know de diffunce, an’ how you gwineter blame de creeturs?” Uncle Remus paused to see what comment the little boy would make, but he was silent, though it is doubtful if he was satisfied.

“Brer Rabbit tuck de chickens on home, he did, an’ made way wid um. Now, dat wuz de las’ er de chickens, but des de beginnin’s er de feathers. Ol’ Miss Rabbit, she wanter burn um in de fier, but Brer Rabbit say de whole neighborhood would smell um, an’ he ’low dat he got a better way dan dat. So, nex’ mornin’ atter brekkus, he borried a bag fum ol’ Brer Wolf, an’ inter dis he stuff de feathers, an’ start off down de road.

“Well, suh, ez luck would have it, Brer Rabbit hatter pass by Brer Fox house, an’ who should be stannin’ at de gate wid his walkin’-cane in han’, but Brer Fox? Brer Fox, he fetched a bow, wid, ‘Brer Rabbit, whar you gwine?’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘Ef I had de win’, Brer Fox, I’d be gwine to mill. Dish yer’s a turrible load I got, an’ I dunner how soon I’ll gi’ out. I ain’t strong in de back an’ limber in de knees like I useter be, Brer Fox. You may be holdin’ yo’ own, an’ I hope you is, but I’m on de down grade, dey ain’t no two ways ’bout dat.’ Wid dat, he sot de bag down by de side er de road, an’ wipe his face wid his hankcher.

“Brer Fox, he come on whar Brer Rabbit wuz a-settin’ at, an’ ax ef it’s corn er wheat. Brer Rabbit ’low dat tain’t na’er one; it’s des some stuff dat he gwine ter sell ter de miller. Brer Fox, he want ter know what ’tis so bad he ain’t know what ter do, an’ he up an’ ax Brer Rabbit p’intedly. Brer Rabbit say he fear’d ter tell ’im kaze de truck what he got in de bag is de onliest way he kin make big money. Brer Fox vow he won’t tell nobody, an’ den Brer Rabbit say dat bein’ ez him an’ Brer Fox is sech good frien’s--neighbors, ez you might say--he don’t min’ tellin’ ’im, kaze he know dat atter Brer Fox done prommus, he won’t breave a word ’bout it. Den he say dat de truck what he got in de bag is roots er de Winniannimus grass, an’ when deyer groun’ up at de mill, dey er wuff nine dollars a poun’.

“Dis make Brer Fox open his eyes. He felt de heft er de bag, he did, an’ he say dat it’s mighty light, an’ he dunner what make Brer Rabbit pant an’ grunt when ’tain’t no heftier dan what it is.

“Brer Rabbit ’low dat de bag wouldn’t ’a’ felt heavy ter him ef he wuz big an’ strong like Brer Fox. Dat kinder talk make Brer Fox feel biggity, an’ he ’low dat he’ll tote de bag ter mill ef Brer Rabbit feel like it’s too heavy. Brer Rabbit say he’ll be mighty much erbleeged, an’ be glad fer ter pay Brer Fox sump’n ter boot. An’ so, off dey put down de road, Brer Fox a-trottin’ an’ Brer Rabbit gwine in a canter.

“Brer Fox ax what dey does wid de Winniannimus grass atter dey gits it groun’ up at de mill. Brer Rabbit ’low dat rich folks buys it fer ter make Whipmewhopme puddin’. Brer Fox say he’ll take some home when de miller git it groun’ an’ see how it tas’es, an’ Brer Rabbit say he’s mo’ dan welcome. Atter dey been gwine on some little time, Brer Rabbit look back an’ see Mr. Man a-comin’, an’ he say ter Brer Fox, sezee, ‘Brer Fox, you is de outdoinist man I ever is see. You done got me plum’ wo’ out, an’ I’m bleeze ter take a res’. You go on an’ I’ll ketch up wid you ef I kin; ef not, des wait fer me at de mill.’ Brer Fox ’low, ‘Shucks, Brer Rabbit! you ain’t ’quainted wid me; you dunner nothin’ ’tall ’bout me. I kin go on dis a-way all day long an’ half de night.’ Brer Rabbit roll his big eyes, an’ say, ‘Well, suh!’

“An’ den he sot down by de side er de road, an’ ’twuz all he kin do fer ter keep fum bustin’ out in a big laugh.

“Bimeby, Mr. Man come ’long an’ say, ‘Who dat wid de big bag on his back?’ Brer Rabbit make answer dat it’s Brer Fox. Mr. Man say, ‘What he got in his bag?’ Brer Rabbit ’low, ‘I ax ’im, an’ he say it’s some kinder grass what he takin’ ter de mill fer ter git groun’, but I seed mo’ dan one chicken feather stickin’ ter de bag.’ Mr. Man say, ‘Den he’s de chap what tuck an’ tuck my fat hens an’ my slick pullets, an’ I’ll make ’im sorry dat he yever is see a chicken.’

“Wid dat he put out atter Brer Fox, an’ Brer Rabbit, he put out too, but he stay in de bushes, so dat nobody can’t see ’im. Mr. Man he cotch up wid Brer Fox, an’ ax ’im what he got in de bag. Brer Fox say he got Winniannimus grass what he gwineter have groun’ at de mill. Mr. Man say he wanter see what Winniannimus grass look like. Brer Fox sot de bag down an’ say dat when it’s groun’ up de rich folks buys it fer ter make Whipmewhopme puddin’. Mr. Man open de bag, an’ dey wa’n’t nothin’ in it but chicken feathers. He ’low, ‘Whipmewhopme puddin’! I’ll whip you an’ whop you,’ an’ wid dat he grab Brer Fox in de collar, an’ mighty nigh frailed de life out’n ’im.

“Brer Rabbit seed it well done, an’ he des fell down in de bushes an’ roll an’ laugh twel he can’t laugh no mo’.”

“Well, I don’t see why he should think it was funny,” the little boy remarked.

Uncle Remus looked hard at this modern little boy before he answered: “Maybe you dunno Brer Fox, honey; I don’t speck you hear talk er de way he try ter git de inturn on Brer Rabbit. But on top er dat, Brer Rabbit wuz so ticklish dat mos’ anything would make ’im laugh. It sholy wuz scan’lous de way Brer Rabbit kin laugh.”

V

LITTLE MISTER CRICKET AND THE OTHER CREATURES

Uncle Remus was very anxious to know what the child thought about the story of Brother Rabbit and the chicken feathers, but he made no inquiries; he was willing to let the youngster’s preferences show themselves without any urging on his part.

When the little boy did speak, he made no reference to Brother Rabbit and the chicken feathers: his thoughts were elsewhere. “Uncle Remus,” he said, “I never saw a cricket. What do they look like?”

“You ain’t never see no cricket!” exclaimed Uncle Remus, with a great display of amazement. “Well, dat bangs my time! What yo’ ma an’ pa--speshually yo’ pa--what dey been doin’ all deze lonesome years dat they ain’t never show’d you no cricket? How dey speck you ter git ’long in de worl’ ef dey ain’t gwine ter tell you ’bout de things you oughter know, an’ show you de things dat you oughter see? You ain’t never see no cricket, an’ here you is mos’ ready ter shave off de down on your face!”

The child blushed. “Why, I have no down on my face, Uncle Remus,” he protested.

“Well, you will have some er deze days, an’ den what will folks think uv a great big man what ain’t never seed no cricket?”

“Mother has never seen one,” replied the little boy, somewhat triumphantly.

“She’s a lady,” Uncle Remus explained, “an’ dat’s diffunt. She been brung up in ’Lantamatantarum, an’ I speck she’d fall down an’ faint ef she wuz ter see one. Folks ain’t like dey use ter be; in my day an’ time, ef man er boy wuz ter say dat he ain’t never seed no cricket, dem what he tol’ de news ter would git up an’ go ’way fum ’im; but deze days I boun’ you dey’d huddle up close ’roun’ ’im, an’ j’ine in wid ’im, an’ say dey ain’t never is seed one nudder.”

“If you had never seen one, you wouldn’t talk that way, Uncle Remus,” remarked the little boy quite seriously. “How can I help myself, if I have never seen one? It isn’t my fault, is it?”

“Tooby sho’ it ain’t, honey. Nobody ain’t blamin’ you. Yit when I see a great big boy what ain’t never seed no cricket, I bleeze ter ax myse’f whar he come fum an’ what he been doin’. I boun’ ef you’d ’a’ been wid yo’ gran’mammy an me you’d ’a’ seed crickets twel you got tired er seein’ um. Dat’s de kinder folks we-all is. ’Tain’t no trouble ter we-all ter show chillun what dey oughter see. I bet you, you’ pa know’d what a cricket wuz long ’fo’ he wuz ol’ ez you is. Dey wa’n’t nothin’ fer ter hender ’im. Miss Sally des turned ’im over ter me, an’ say, ‘Don’t let ’im git hurted,’ an’ dar he wuz. Ef he ain’t seed all dey wuz ter be seed, it ’uz kaze it ’uz in a show, an’ de show in town whar he can’t git at it. Dat’s de way we done wid him, an’ dat’s de way I’d like ter do wid you. It’s a mighty pity you wa’n’t brung up here at home, stidder up dar in ’Lantamatantarum, whar dey ain’t nothin’ ’tall but dust, an’ mud, an’ money. De folks up dar ain’t want de mud an’ dust, an’ de mo’ dey wash it off de mo’ dey gits on um; but dey does want de money, an’ de mo’ dey scuffles fer it, de mo’ dey has ter scuffle.”

“Is a cricket like a grasshopper, Uncle Remus?” inquired the little boy, who took no interest in the old man’s prejudice against Atlanta.

“Dey mos’ly is, an’ den ag’in dey mos’ly ain’t. Befo’ de time dat ol’ Grandaddy Cricket kick down de chimbley, dey wa’n’t no mo’ like grasshoppers dan I’m like a steer, but atter dat, when he git his knees on wrongsudouterds, dey sorter look like grasshoppers ’cepin’ when you look at um right close, an’ den dey don’t look like um.

“Dey got lots mo’ sense dan de yuther crawlin’ an’ hoppin’ creeturs. Dey ought not ter be put wid de hoppin’ creeturs, kaze dey don’t b’long wid ’um, an’ dey wouldn’t be a-hoppin’ in deze days ef ol’ Grandaddy Cricket hadn’t ’a’ got cripple’ when he kick de chimbley down. In de times when ol’ Boss Elephant, an’ Brer Lion, an’ Brer Tiger wuz meanderin’ roun’ in deze parts, little Mr. Cricket wuz on mighty good terms wid um. Ez dey say er folks, he stood mighty well whar dey know’d ’im--mighty well--an’ he wuz ’bout de sharpes’ er de whole caboodle, ef you’ll leave out de name er Brer Rabbit.

“It come ’bout one time dat de creeturs wuz all sunnin’ deyse’f--it mought er been Sunday fer all I know--an’ dey des stretch out an’ sot an’ sot roun’ lickin’ der chops, an’ blinkin’ der eyes, an’ combin’ der ha’r. Mr. Elephant wuz swingin’ hisse’f backerds an’ forerds, an’ flingin’ de san’ on his back fer ter keep off de flies, an’ all de res’ wuz gwine on ’cordin’ ter der breed an’ need.

“Ef you’ll watch right close, honey, you’ll fin’ out fer yo’se’f dat when folks ain’t got much ter do, an’ little er nothin’ fer ter talk ’bout, dey’ll soon git ter braggin’, an’ dat’s des de way wid de creeturs. Brer Fox start it up; he say, ‘Gents, ’fo’ I fergit it off ’n my min’, I wanter tell you dat I’m de swiffes’ one in dis bunch.’ Mr. Elephant wink one er his little eyeballs, an’ fling his snout in de a’r an’ whispered--an’ you mought ’a’ hearn dat whisper a mile--‘I’m de strenkiest; I wanter call yo’ ’tention ter dat.’ Mr. Lion shuck his mane an’ showed his tushes. He say, ‘Don’t fergit dat I’m de King er all de creetur tribe.’ Mr. Tiger stretched hisse’f an’ gap’d. He say, ‘I’m de purtiest an’ de mos’ servigrous.’

“Fum one ter de yuther de braggin’ went roun’. Ef ’twant dis it uz dat, an’ ef ’twant dat, ’twuz de yuther. Dey went on so twel bimeby little Mr. Cricket chirped up an’ say he kin make all un um run dey heads off, fum ol’ Mr. Elephant down ter de las’ one. Dey all laugh like it’s a good joke, an’ Brer Fox he ’low dat he had de idee dat dey wuz all doin’ some monstus tall braggin’, but Mr. Cricket wuz away ahead er de whole gang, an’ den he say, ‘How you gwineter begin fer ter commence fer ter do all deze great deeds an’ didoes?’ Mr. Cricket say, ‘Des gi’ me time; gi’ me time, an’ yo’ll all hear fum me--yo’ll hear, but you won’t stop fer ter lis’n’, an’ den he work his jaws fer all de worl’ like Brer Rabbit does when he’s chawin’ terbacker.

“Now, ol’ Brer Rabbit know’d dat Mr. Cricket wuz up ter some sharp trick er n’er, an’ so he wait twel he kin have a confab wid ’im. He ain’t had long ter wait, kaze Mr. Crickley Cricket make up his min’ dat Brer Rabbit wuz de one what kin he’p him out. Dey bofe wanter see one an’er, an’ when dat’s de case, dey ain’t much trouble ’bout it. Dey soon got off by deyse’f, an’ Brer Rabbit ’low dat Mr. Cricket got a mighty big job on his han’s, an’ Mr. Cricket, he say it’s sech a big job dat he can’t git thoo wid it less’n Brer Rabbit will he’p ’im out. Mr. Cricket say ’tain’t much he gwine ter ax er Brer Rabbit, but little ez ’tis, he bleeze ter ax it. Brer Rabbit look at ’im right hard an’ twis’ his mustache. ‘Out wid it, Mr. Cricket; out wid it, an’ I’ll see ef I kin he’p you out. But I want you ter take notice dat all de yuthers is got a crow fer ter pick wid me, on account er de way I been doin’.’

Mr. Cricket chirp up, ‘So I hear, Brer Rabbit--so I hear,’ an’ den he went on fer ter tell Brer Rabbit what he want ’im ter do. Brer Rabbit laugh, he did, an’ say, ‘Ef dat’s all you want, Mr. Cricket, you kin count me in, kaze I laid off fer ter he’p you lot’s mo’ dan dat--lots mo’.’ Mr. Cricket say dat’ll be de greates’ plenty, an’ wid dat dey went off home fer ter kinder res’ deyse’f, but not ’fo’ dey fix on a day when dey’ll have time fer ter work der trick on de yuther creeturs.

“Dey ’greed on de day, an’ dat day dey met, an’ atter colloguin’ tergedder, off dey put ter de place whar dey ’spected ter fin’ de yuther creeturs. De fust one dey meet wuz ol’ Mr. Elephant. Dey pass de time er day, dey did, an’ Brer Rabbit say he got bad news. Mr. Elephant flung up his snout like he ’stonish’d, an’ swung backerd an’ forerds like he ’bout ter cry. Brer Rabbit ’low dat de win’ blow’d a hick’y-nut down right ’pon top er Mr. Cricket an’ cripple ’im so he can’t go home, an’ he ax ef Mr. Elephant won’t tote ’im ez fur ez he kin. Mr. Elephant say tooby sho’ he will an’ be glad in de bargain, an’ so he kneel down, he did, an’ let Mr. Cricket crawl on his back.

“But Mr. Cricket crawl furder dan de back; he crawl on Mr. Elephant neck, an’ den inter his y’ear. Dis whar he wanter git, an’ soon ez he got settle, he flutter his wings right fas’ an’ Mr. Elephant think de win’ is blowin’ thoo de trees. Mr. Cricket flutter his wings harder, an’ Mr. Elephant think dey’s a storm cornin’ up. He splunge thoo de bushes, he did, an’ ef Mr. Cricket hadn’t ’a’ been inside his year, he’d ’a’ been knocked off by de lim’s er de trees. Ez ’twuz, he sot back an’ laugh, an’ say ter hisse’f dat Mr. Elephant ain’t hear nothin’ ’tall ter what he will hear.

“Wid dat, he chune up his whistle, an’ started fer ter blow on it. He blow’d kinder low ter begin wid, an’ den he ’gun ter git louder. An’ de louder he got de mo’ he skeer’d Mr. Elephant, an’ he went splungin’ thoo de woods same ez a harrycane. He went so fas’ dat he come mighty nigh runnin’ over King Lion whiles he wuz talkin’ ter ol’ Brer Tiger. He ain’t hear ’um say, ‘Mr. Elephant, whar you gwine?’ but he stop right whar dey wuz an’ ’gun ter turn roun’ an’ roun’. King Lion ax ’im what de matter, an’ Mr. Elephant say he b’lieve he gwine ravin’ ’stracted. He ’low, ‘I got a singin’ an’ a whistlin’ in one er my years, an’ I dunner which un it’s in. Don’t you-all hear it?’

“Dey lis’n, dey did, an’ bless gracious, dey kin hear it. Ol’ King Lion look like he ’stonished. He say, ‘It soun’s fer all de worl’, Mr. Elephant, like you des ’bout ter bile over, an’ ef dat’s what yer gwine ter do, I wanter be out’n de way--clean out’n de way.’

“Mr. Elephant turn roun’ an’ roun’, he did, an’ ef he’d ’a’ been light-headed like some folks I knows, he’d ’a’ drapt right dar. Mr. Cricket watch his chance, an’ when Mr. Elephant got nigh ter King Lion, he tuck a flyin’ jump an’ lit right in King Lion’s mane, an’ ’twant long ’fo’ he made his way ter de year. But while he wuz makin’ his way dar Mr. Elephant stopped whirlin’ roun’; he stop an’ lis’n, he did, an’ he ain’t hear nothin’; he lis’n some mo’ an’ still he ain’t hear nothin’. He say, ‘I b’lieve in my soul dat I’m kyo’d! I’m mighty glad I met you-all, kaze I know one un you is a doctor, an’ ever which un it is, he sho’ has done de work.’

“By dis time, Mr. Cricket had got in King Lion year, an’ ’twant long ’fo’ he start up his whistlin’. He whistle low fer ter start wid, an’ King Lion hol’ his head sideways an’ lis’n. He say, ‘I still hears it, Mr. Elephant, an’ ef youer kyo’d I done cotch de thing you had.’ Mr. Cricket went a little louder, an’ King Lion ’gun ter back off like he had business ter ten’ ter. Mr. Tiger say, ‘Whar you gwine? I hope you ain’t skeer’d er Brer Elephant, kaze he ain’t gwineter hurt you. Ef you gwine any whar, you better turn ’roun’ an’ go right.’