Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings/The Sad Fate of Mr. Fox

From Wikisource
Jump to: navigation, search
Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings by Joel Chandler Harris
The Sad Fate of Mr. Fox

Legends of the Old Plantation[edit]

XXXIV. The Sad Fate of Mr. Fox[edit]

“Now, den,” said Uncle Remus, with unusual gravity, as soon as the little boy, by taking his seat, announced that he was ready for the evening’s entertainment to begin; “now, den, dish yer tale w’at I’m agwine ter gin you is de las’ row er stumps, sho. Dish yer’s whar ole Brer Fox los’ his breff, en he ain’t fine it no mo’ down ter dis day.”

“Did he kill himself, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked, with a curious air of concern.

“Hol’ on dar, honey!” the old man exclaimed, with a great affectation of alarm; “hol’ on dar! Wait! Gimme room! I don’t wanter tell you no story, en ef you keep shovin’ me forrerd, I mout git some er de facks mix up ’mong deyse’f. You gotter gimme room en you gotter gimme time.”

The little boy had no other premature questions to ask, and, after a pause, Uncle Remus resumed:

“Well, den, one day Brer Rabbit go ter Brer Fox house, he did, en he put up mighty po’ mouf. He say his ole ’oman sick, en his chilluns col’, en de fier done gone out. Brer Fox, he feel bad ’bout dis, en he tuck’n s’ply Brer Rabbit widder chunk er fier. Brer Rabbit see Brer Fox cookin’ some nice beef, en his mouf gun ter water, but he take de fier, he did, en he put out to’rds home; but present’y yer he come back, en he say de fier done gone out. Brer Fox ’low dat he want er invite to dinner, but he don’t say nuthin’, en bimeby Brer Rabbit he up’n say, sezee:

“‘Brer Fox, whar you git so much nice beef?’ sezee, en den Brer Fox he up’n ’spon’, sezee:

“‘You come ter my house termorrer ef yo’ fokes ain’t too sick, en I kin show you whar you kin git plenty beef mo’ nicer dan dish yer,’ sezee.

“Well, sho nuff, de nex’ day fotch Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox say, sezee:

“‘Der’s a man down yander by Miss Meadows’s w’at got heap er fine cattle, en he gotter cow name Bookay,’ sezee, ‘en you des go en say Bookay, en she’ll open her mouf, en you kin jump in en git des as much meat ez you kin tote,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“‘Well, I’ll go ’long,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘en you kin jump fus’ en den I’ll come follerin’ atter,’ sezee.

“Wid dat dey put out, en dey went promernadin’ ’roun’ ’mong de cattle, dey did, twel bimeby dey struck up wid de one dey wuz atter. Brer Fox, he up, he did, en holler Bookay, en de cow flung ’er mouf wide open. Sho nuff, in dey jump, en w’en dey got dar, Brer Fox, he say, sezee:

“‘You kin cut mos’ ennywheres, Brer Rabbit, but don’t cut ’roun’ de haslett,’ sezee.

“Den Brer Rabbit, he holler back, he did: ‘I’m a gitten me out a roas’n-piece,’ sezee.

“‘Roas’n, er bakin’, er fryin’,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘don’t git too nigh de haslett,’ sezee.

“Dey cut en dey kyarved, en dey kyarved en dey cut, en w’iles dey wuz cuttin’ en kyarvin’, en slashin’ ’way, Brer Rabbit, he tuck’n hacked inter de haslett, en wid dat down fell de cow dead.

“‘Now, den,’ sez Brer Fox, ‘we er gone, sho,’ sezee.

“‘W’at we gwine do?’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.

“‘I’ll git in de maul,’ sez Brer Fox, ‘en you’ll jump in de gall,’ sezee.

“Nex’ mawnin’ yer cum de man w’at de cow b’long ter, and he ax who kill Bookay. Nobody don’t say nuthin’. Den de man say he’ll cut ’er open en see, en den he whirl in, en twan’t no time ’fo’ he had ’er intruls spread out. Brer Rabbit, he crope out’n de gall, en say, sezee:

“‘Mister Man! Oh, Mister Man! I’ll tell you who kill yo’ cow. You look in de maul, en dar you’ll fine ’im,’ sezee.

“Wid dat de man tuck a stick and lam down on de maul so hard dat he kill Brer Fox stone-dead. W’en Brer Rabbit see Brer Fox wuz laid out fer good, he make like he mighty sorry, en he up’n ax de man fer Brer Fox head. Man say he ain’t keerin’, en den Brer Rabbit tuck’n brung it ter Brer Fox house. Dar he see ole Miss Fox, en he tell ’er dat he done fotch her some nice beef w’at ’er ole man sont ’er, but she ain’t gotter look at it twel she go ter eat it.

“Brer Fox son wuz name Tobe, en Brer Rabbit tell Tobe fer ter keep still w’iles his mammy cook de nice beef w’at his daddy sont ’im. Tobe he wuz mighty hongry, en he look in de pot he did w’iles de cookin’ wuz gwine on, en dar he see his daddy head, en wid dat he sot up a howl en tole his mammy. Miss Fox, she git mighty mad w’en she fine she cookin’ her ole man head, en she call up de dogs, she did, en sickt em on Brer Rabbit; en ole Miss Fox en Tobe en de dogs, dey push Brer Rabbit so close dat he hatter take a holler tree. Miss Fox, she tell Tobe fer ter stay dar en mine Brer Rabbit, w’ile she goes en git de ax, en w’en she gone, Brer Rabbit, he tole Tobe ef he go ter de branch en git ’im a drink er water dat he’ll gin ’im a dollar. Tobe, he put out, he did, en bring some water in his hat, but by de time he got back Brer Rabbit done out en gone. Ole Miss Fox, she cut and cut twel down come de tree, but no Brer Rabbit dar. Den she lay de blame on Tobe, en she say she gwineter lash ’im, en Tobe, he put out en run, de ole ’oman atter ’im. Bimeby, he come up wid Brer Rabbit, en sot down fer to tell ’im how ’twuz, en w’iles dey wuz a settin’ dar, yer come ole Miss Fox a slippin’ up en grab um bofe. Den she tell um w’at she gwine do. Brer Rabbit she gwineter kill, en Tobe she gwineter lam ef its de las’ ack. Den Brer Rabbit sez, sezee:

“‘Ef you please, ma’am, Miss Fox, lay me on de grinestone en groun off my nose so I can’t smell no mo’ w’en I’m dead.’

“Miss Fox, she tuck dis ter be a good idee, en she fotch bofe un um ter de grinestone, en set um up on it so dat she could groun’ off Brer Rabbit nose. Den Brer Rabbit, he up’n say, sezee:

“‘Ef you please, ma’am, Miss Fox, Tobe he kin turn de handle w’iles you goes atter some water fer ter wet de grinestone,’ sezee.

“Co’se, soon’z Brer Rabbit see Miss Fox go atter de water, he jump down en put out, en dis time he git clean away.”

“And was that the last of the Rabbit, too, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked, with something like a sigh.

“Don’t push me too close, honey,” responded the old man; “don’t shove me up in no cornder. I don’t wanter tell you no stories. Some say dat Brer Rabbit’s ole ’oman died fum eatin’ some pizen-weed, en dat Brer Rabbit married ole Miss Fox, en some say not. Some tells one tale en some tells nudder; some say dat fum dat time forrerd de Rabbits en de Foxes make fren’s en stay so; some say dey kep on quollin’. Hit look like it mixt. Let dem tell you w’at knows. Dat w’at I years you gits it straight like I yeard it.”

There was a long pause, which was finally broken by the old man:

“Hit’s ’gin de rules fer you ter be noddin’ yer, honey. Bimeby you’ll drap off en I’ll hatter tote you up ter de big ’ouse. I hear dat baby cryin’, en bimeby Miss Sally’ll fly up en be a holler’n atter you”

“Oh, I wasn’t asleep,” the little boy replied. “I was just thinking.”

“Well, dat’s diffunt,” said the old man. “Ef you’ll clime up on my back,” he continued, speaking softly, “I speck I ain’t too ole fer ter be yo’ hoss fum yer ter de house. Many en many’s de time dat I toted yo’ Unk Jeems dat away, en Mars Jeems wuz heavier sot dan w’at you is.”