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“IN dem times,” said Uncle Remus, gazing admiringly at himself in a fragment of looking-glass, “Brer Rabbit, en Brer Fox, en Brer Coon, en dem yuther creeturs go co’tin’ en sparklin’ ‘roun’ de naberhood mo’ samer dan folks. ‘Twan’t no ‘Lemme a hoss,’ ner ‘Fetch me my buggy,’ but dey des up’n lit out en tote deyse’f. Dar’s ole Brer Fox, he des wheel ‘roun’ en fetch his flank one swipe wid ‘is tongue en he’d be koam up; en Brer Rabbit, he des spit on his han’ en twis’ it ‘roun’ ‘mongst de roots er his years en his ha’r’d be roach. Dey wuz dat flirtashus,” continued the old man, closing one eye at his image in the glass, “dat Miss Meadows en de gals don’t se no peace fum one week een’ ter de udder. Chuseday wuz same as Sunday, en Friday wuz same as Chuseday, en hit come down ter dat pass dat w’en Miss Meadows ‘ud have chicken-fixin’s fer dinner, in ‘ud drap Brer Fox en Brer Possum, en w’en she’d have fried greens in ‘ud pop ole Brer Rabbit, twel las’ Miss Meadows, she tuck’n tell de gals dat she be dad-blame ef she gwineter keep no tavvum. So dey fix it up ‘mong deyse’f, Miss Meadows en de gals did, dat de nex’ time de gents call dey’d gin um a game. De gents, dey wuz a co’tin, but Miss Meadows, she don’t wanter marry none un um, en needer duz de gals, en likewise dey don’t wanter have um pester’n ‘roun.’ Las’, one Chuseday, Miss Meadows, she tole um dat ef dey come down ter her house de nex’ Sat’day evenin’, de whole caboodle on um ‘ud go down de road a piece, whar der wuz a big flint rock, en de man w’at could take a sludge-hammer en knock de dus’ out’n dat rock, he wuz de man w’at ‘ud git de pick er de gals. Dey all say dey gwine do it, but ole Brer Rabbit, he crope off whar der wuz a cool place under some jimson weeds, en dar he sot wukkin his mind how he gwineter git dus’ out’n dat rock. Bimeby, w’ile he wuz a settin’ dar, up he jump en crack his heels tergedder en sing out:

“‘Make a bow ter de Buzzard en den ter de Crow,
Takes a limber-toe gemmun fer ter jump Jim Crow,’

“en wid dat he put out for Brer Coon house en borrer his slippers. W’en Sat’day evenin’ come, dey wuz all dere. Miss Meadows en de gals, dey wuz dere; en Brer Coon, en Brer Fox, en Brer Possum, en Brer Tarrypin, dey wuz dere.”

“Where was the Rabbit?” the little boy asked.

“You kin put yo’ ‘pennunce in ole Brer Rabbit,” the old man replied, with a chuckle. “He wuz dere, but he shuffle up kinder late, kaze w’en Miss Meadows en de balance on um done gone down ter de place, Brer Rabbit, he crope ‘roun’ ter de ash-hopper, en fill Brer Coon’s slippers full er ashes, en den he tuck’n put um on en march off. He got dar atter ‘w’ile, en soon’s Miss Meadows en de gals seed ‘im, dey up’n giggle, en make a great ‘miration kaze Brer Rabbit got on slippers. Brer Fox, he so smart, he holler out, he did, en say he lay Brer Rabbit got de groun’-eatch, but Brer Rabbit, he sorter shet one eye, he did, en say, sezee:

“‘I bin so useter ridin’ hoss-back, ez deze ladies knows, dat I’m gittin’ sorter tender-footed;’ en dey don’t hear much mo’ fum Brer Fox dat day, kaze he ‘member how Brer Rabbit done bin en rid him; en hit ‘uz des ’bout much ez Miss Meadows en de gals could do fer ter keep der snickers fum gittin’ up a ‘sturbance ‘mong de congregashun. But, never mine dat, old Brer Rabbit, he wuz dar, en he so brash dat leetle mo’ en he’d er grab up de sludge-hammer en er open up de racket ‘fo’ ennybody gun de word; but Brer Fox, he shove Brer Rabbit out’n de way en pick up de sludge hisse’f. Now den,” continued the old man, with pretty much the air of one who had been the master of similar ceremonies, “de progance wuz dish yer: Eve’y gent wer ter have th’ee licks at de rock, en de gent w’at fetch de dus’ he were de one w’at gwineter take de pick er de gals. Ole Brer Fox, he grab de sludge-hammer, he did, en he come down on de rock–blim! No dus’ ain’t come. Den he draw back en down he come ag’in–blam! No dus’ ain’t come. Den he spit in his han’s, en give ‘er a big swing en down she come–kerblap! En yit no dus’ ain’t flew’d.

“Den Brer Possum he make triul, en Brer Coon, en all de balance un um ‘cep’ Brer Tarrypin, en he ‘low dat he got a crick in his neck. Den Brer Rabbit, he grab holt er de sludge, en he lipt up in de a’r en come down on de rock all at de same time–pow!–en de ashes, dey flew’d up so, dey did, dat Brer Fox, he tuck’n had a sneezin’ spell, en Miss Meadows en de gals dey up’n koff. Th’ee times Brer Rabbit jump up en crack his heels tergedder en come down wid de sludge-hammer–ker-blam!–en eve’y time he jump up, he holler out:

“‘Stan’ fudder, ladies! Yer come de dus’!’ en sho nuff, de dus’ come.

“Leas’ways,” continued Uncle Remus, “Brer Rabbit got one er de gals, en dey had a weddin’ en a big infa’r.”

“Which of the girls did the Rabbit marry?” asked the little boy, dubiously.

“I did year tell un ‘er name,” replied the old man, with a great affectation of interest, “but look like I done gone en fergit it out’n my mine. Ef I don’t disremember,” he continued, “hit wuz Miss Molly Cottontail, en I speck we better let it go at dat.”