“ONE time,” said Uncle Remus—adjusting his spectacles so as to be
able to see how to thread a large darning-needle with which he was
patching his coat—“one time, way back yander, ’fo’ you wuz borned,
honey, en ’fo’ Mars John er Miss Sally wuz borned-way back
yander ’fo’ enny un us wuz borned, de anemils en de creeturs sorter
’lecshuneer roun’ ’mong deyselves, twel at las’ dey ’greed fer ter
have a ’sem-bly. In dem days,” continued the old man, observing
a look of incredulity on the little boy’s face, “in dem days creeturs
had lots mo’ sense dan dey got now; let ’lone dat, dey had sense
same like folks. Hit was tech en go wid um, too, mon, en w’en dey
make up der mines w’at hatter be done, ’twant mo’n menshun’d ’fo,
hit wuz done. Well, dey ’lected dat dey hatter hole er ’sembly fer
ter sorter straighten out marters en hear de complaints, en w’en de
day come dey wuz on han’. De Lion, he wuz dar, kase he wuz de
king, en he hatter be der. De Bhynossyhoss, he wuz dar, en de
Elephent, he wuz dar, en de Cammils, en de Cows, en plum down
ter de Crawnshes, dey wuz dar. Dey wuz all dar. En w’en de Lion
shuck his mane, en tuck his seat in de big cheer, den de sesshun
begun fer ter commence.
“What did they do, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy.
“I can’t skacely call to mine ’zackly w’at dey did do, but dey spoke
speeches, en hollered, en cusst, en flung der langwidge ’roun’ des
like w’en yo’ daddy wuz gwineter run fer de legislater en got lef’.
Howsomever, dey ’ranged der ’fairs, en splained der bizness.
Bimeby, w’ile dey wuz ’sputin’ ’longer one er nudder, de Elephent
trompled on one er de Craw-fishes. Co’se w’en dat creetur put his
foot down, w’atsumever’s under dar wuz bonn’ fer ter be squshed,
en dey wa’n’t nuff er dat Crawfish lef’ fer ter tell dat he’d bin dar.
“Dis make de udder Crawnshes mighty mad, en dey sorter
swarmed tergedder en draw’d up a kinder peramble wid some
wharfo’es in it, en read her out in de ’sembly. But, bless grashus!
sech a racket wuz a gwine on dat nobody ain’t hear it, ’ceppin may
be de Mud Turkle en de Spring Lizzud, en dere enfloons wuz
pow’ful lackin’.
“Bimeby, w’iles de Nunicorn wuz ’sputin’ wid de Lion, en w’ile de
Hyener wuz a laughin’ ter hisse’f, de Elephent squshed anudder one
er de Crawfishes, en a little mo’n he’d er ruint de Mud Turkle. Den
de Crawfishes, w’at dey wuz lef’ un urn, swarmed tergedder en
draw’d up anudder peramble wid sum mo’ wharfo’es; but dey might
ez well er sung Ole Dan Tucker ter a harrycane. De udder creeturs
wuz too busy wid der fussin’ fer ter ’spon’ unto de Crawfishes. So
dar dey wuz, de Crawfishes, en dey didn’t know w’at minnit wuz
gwineter be de nex’; en dey kep’ on gittin madder en madder en
skeerder en skeerder, twel bimeby dey gun de wink ter de Mud
Turkie en de Spring Lizzud, en den dey bo’d little holes in de
groun’ en went down outer sight.”
“Who did, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy.
“De Crawfishes, honey. Dey bo’d inter de groun’ en kep’ on bo’in
twel dey onloost de fountains er de earf; en de waters squirt out, en
riz higher en higher twel de hills wuz kivvered, en de creeturs wuz
all drowuded; en all bekaze dey let on ’mong deyselves dat dey
wuz bigger dan de Crawfishes.”
Then the old man blew the ashes from a smoking yam, and
proceeded to remove the peeling.
“Where was the ark, Uncle Remus?” the little boy inquired,
presently.
“W’ich ark’s dat?” asked the old man, in a tone of well-feigned
curiosity.
“Noah’s ark,” replied the child.
“Don’t you pester wid ole man Noah, honey. I bonn’ he tuck keer er
dat ark. Dat’s w’at he wuz dar fer, en dat’s w’at he done. Leas’ways,
dat’s w’at dey tells me. But don’t you bodder longer dat ark, ’ceppin’
your mammy fetches it up. Dey mout er bin two deloojes, en den
agin dey moutent. Ef dey wuz euny ark in dish yer w’at de
Crawfishes brung on, I ain’t heern tell un it, en w’en dey ain’t no
arks ’roun’, I ain’t got no time fer ter make urn en put urn in dar.
Hit’s gittin’ yo’ bedtime, honey.”
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