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‘”DE animils en de creeturs,” said Uncle Remus, shaking his coffee around in the bottom of his tin-cup, in order to gather up all the sugar, ‘dey kep’ on gittin’ mo’ en mo’ familious wid wunner nudder, twel bimeby, ‘twan’t long ‘fo’ Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox, en Brer Possum got ter sorter bunchin’ der perwishuns tergedder in de same shanty. Atter w’ile de roof sorter ‘gun ter leak, en one day Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox, en Brer Possum, ‘semble fer ter see ef dey can’t kinder patch her up. Dey had a big day’s work in front un um, en dey fotch der dinner wid um. Dey lump de vittles up in one pile, en de butter w’at Brer Fox brung, dey goes en puts in de spring-‘ouse fer ter keep cool, en den dey went ter wuk, en ‘twan’t long ‘fo’ Brer Rabbit’s stummuck ‘gun ter sorter growl en pester ‘im. Dat butter er Brer Fox sot heavy on his mine, en his mouf water eve’y time he ‘member ’bout it. Present’y he say ter hisse’f dat he bleedzd ter have a nip at dat butter, en den he lay his plans, he did. Fus’ news you know, w’ile dey wuz all wukkin’ long, Brer Rabbit raise his head quick en fling his years forerd en holler out:

“‘Here I is. W’at you want wid me?’ en off he put like sump’n wuz atter ‘im.

“He sallied ‘roun’, ole Brer Rabbit did, en atter he make sho dat nobody ain’t foller’n un ‘im, inter de spring-‘ouse he bounces, en dar he stays twel he git a bait er butter. Den he santer on back en go to wuk.

“‘Whar you bin?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“‘I hear my chilluns callin’ me,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘en I hatter go see w’at dey want. My ole ‘oman done gone en tuck mighty sick,’ sezee.

“Dey wuk on twel bimeby de butter tas’e so good dat ole Brer Rabbit want some mo’. Den he raise up his head, he did, en holler out:

“‘Heyo! Hol’ on! I’m a comin’!’ en off he put.

“Dis time he stay right smart w’ile, en w’en he git back Brer Fox ax him whar he bin.

“‘I been ter see my ole ‘oman, en she’s a sinkin’,’ sezee.

“Dreckly Brer Rabbit hear um callin’ ‘im ag’in en off he goes, en dis time, bless yo’ soul, he gits de butter out so clean dat he kin see hisse’f in de bottom er de bucket. He scrape it clean en lick it dry, en den he go back ter wuk lookin’ mo’ samer dan a nigger w’at de patter-rollers bin had holt un.

“‘How’s yo’ ole ‘oman dis time?’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“‘I’m oblije ter you, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘but I’m fear’d she’s done gone by now,’ en dat sorter make Brer Fox en Brer Possum feel in mo’nin’ wid Brer Rabbit.

“Bimeby, w’en dinner-time come, dey all got out der vittles, but Brer Rabbit keep on lookin’ lonesome, en Brer Fox en Brer Possum dey sorter rustle roun’ fer ter see ef dey can’t make Brer Rabbit feel sorter splimmy.”

“What is that, Uncle Remus?” asked the little boy.

“Sorter splimmy-splammy, honey–sorter like he in a crowd–sorter like his ole ‘oman ain’t dead ez she mout be. You know how fokes duz w’en dey gits whar people’s a moanin’.”

The little boy didn’t know, fortunately for him, and Uncle Remus went on:

“Brer Fox en Brer Possum rustle roun’, dey did, gittin out de vittles, en bimeby Brer Fox, he say, sezee:

“‘Brer Possum, you run down ter de spring en fetch de butter, en I’ll sail ‘roun’ yer en set de table,’ sezee.

“Brer Possum, he lope off atter de butter, en dreckly here he come lopin’ back wid his years a trimblin’ en his tongue a hangin’ out. Brer Fox, he holler out: