“DERE wuz nudder man dat sorter play it sharp on Brer Rabbit,” said Uncle Remus, as, by some mysterious process, he twisted a hog’s bristle into the end of a piece of thread—an operation which the little boy watched with great interest. “In dem days,” continued the old man, “de creeturs kyar’d on marters same ez fokes. Dey went inter fahmin’, en I speck ef de troof wuz ter come out, dey kep’ sto’, en had der camp-meetin’ times en der bobbycues’ w’en de wedder wuz ’greeble.”

Uncle Remus evidently thought that the little boy wouldn’t like to hear of any further discomfiture of Brer Rabbit, who had come to be a sort of hero, and he was not mistaken.

“I thought the Terrapin was the only one that fooled the Rabbit,” said the little boy, dismally.

“Hit’s des like I tell you, honey. Dey ain’t no smart man, ’cep’ w’at dey’s a smarter. Ef ole Brer Rabbit hadn’t er got kotch up wid, de nabers ’ud er took ’im for a h’ant, en in dem times dey bu’nt witches ’fo’ you could squinch yo’ eyeballs. Dey did dat.”

“Who fooled the Rabbit this time?” the little boy asked.

When Uncle Remus had the bristle “sot” in the thread, he proceeded with the story:

“One time Brer Rabbit en ole Brer Buzzard ’cluded dey’d sorter go snacks, en crop tergedder. Hit wuz a mighty good year, en de truck tu’n out monstus well, but bimeby, w’en de time come fer dividjun, hit come ter light dat ole Brer Buzzard ain’t got nuthin’. De crop wuz all gone, en dey want nuthin’ dar fer ter show fer it. Brer Rabbit, he make like he in a wuss fix’n Brer Buzzard, en he mope ’roun’, he did, like he fear’d dey gwineter sell ’im out.

“Brer Buzzard, he ain’t sayin’ nuthin’, but he keep up a monstus thinkin’, en one day he come ’long en holler en tell Brer Rabbit dat he done fine rich gole-mine des ’cross de river.

“‘You come en go longer me, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Tukky Buzzard, sezee. ‘I’ll scratch en you kin grabble, en ’tween de two un us well make short wuk er dat gole-mine,’ sezee.

“Brer Rabbit, he wuz high up fer de job, but he study en study, he did, how he gwinter git ’cross de water, kaze ev’y time he git his foot wet all de fambly kotch cole. Den he up’n ax Brer Buzzard how he gwine do, en Brer Buzzard he up’n say dat he kyar Brer Rabbit ’cross, en wid dat ole Brer Buzzard, he squot down, he did, en spread his wings, en Brer Rabbit, he mounted, en up dey riz.” There was a pause.

“What did the Buzzard do then?” asked the little boy.

“Dey riz,” continued Uncle Remus, “en w’en dey lit, dey lit in de top er de highest sorter pine, en de pine w’at dey lit in wuz growin’ on er ilun, en de ilun wuz in de middle er de river, wid de deep water runnin’ all ’roun’. Dey ain’t mo’n lit ’fo’ Brer Rabbit, he know w’ich way de win’ ’uz blowin’, en by de time ole Brer Buzzard got hisse’f ballunce on a lim’, Brer Rabbit, he up’n say, sezee:

“‘W’iles we er res’n here, Brer Buzzard, en bein’s you bin so good, I got sump’n fer ter tell you,’ sezee. ‘I got a gole-mine er my own, one w’at I make myse’f, en I speck we better go back ter mine ’fo’ we bodder ’longer yone,’ sezee.

“Den ole Brer Buzzard, he laff, he did, twel he shake, en Brer Rabbit, he sing out:

“‘Hole on, Brer Buzzard! Don’t flop yo’ wings w’en you laff, kaze den if you duz, sump’n ’ill drap fum up yer, en my gole-mine won’t do you no good, en needer will yone do me no good.’

“But ’fo’ dey got down furn dar, Brer Rabbit done tole all ’bout de crop, en he hatter promeus fer ter ’vide fa’r en squar. So Brer Buzzard, he kyar ’im back, en Brer Rabbit he walk weak in de knees a mont’ atterwuds.”