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“While he wuz layin’ dar, Mr. Buzzard come floppin’ ‘long, en seein’ Brer Fox stretch out on de groun’, he lit en view de premusses. Den Mr. Buzzard sorter shake his wing, en put his head on one side, en say to hisse’f like, sezee:

“‘Brer Fox dead, en I so sorry,’ sezee.

“‘No I ain’t dead, nudder,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. ‘I got ole man Rabbit pent up in yer,’ sezee, ‘en I’m a gwine ter git ‘im dis time ef it take twel Chris’mus,’ sezee.

“Den, atter some mo’ palaver, Brer Fox make a bargain dat Mr. Buzzard wuz ter watch de hole, en keep Brer Rabbit dar wiles Brer Fox went atter his axe. Den Brer Fox, he lope off, he did, en Mr. Buzzard, he tuck up his stan’ at de hole. Bimeby, w’en all git still, Brer Rabbit sorter scramble down close ter de hole, he did, en holler out:

“‘Brer Fox! Oh! Brer Fox!’

“Brer Fox done gone, en nobody say nuthin’. Den Brer Rabbit squall out like he wuz mad; sezee:

“‘You needn’t talk less you wanter,’ sezee; ‘I knows you er dar, en I ain’t keerin’,’ sezee. ‘I des wanter tell you dat I wish mighty bad Brer Tukkey Buzzard wuz here,’ sezee.

“Den Mr. Buzzard try ter talk like Brer Fox:

“‘W’at you want wid Mr. Buzzard?’ sezee.

“‘Oh, nuthin’ in ‘tickler, ‘cep’ dere’s de fattes’ gray squir’l in yer dat ever I see,’ sezee, ‘en ef Brer Tukkey Buzzard wuz ‘roun’ he’d be mighty glad fer ter git ‘im,’ sezee.

“‘How Mr. Buzzard gwine ter git ‘im?’ sez de Buzzard, sezee.

“‘Well, dar’s a little hole roun’ on de udder side er de tree,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘en ef Brer Tukkey Buzzard wuz here so he could take up his stan’ dar,’ sezee, ‘I’d drive dat squir’l out,’ sezee.

“‘Drive ‘im out, den,’ sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee, ‘en I’ll see dat Brer Tukkey Buzzard gits ‘im,’ sezee.

“Den Brer Rabbit kick up a racket, like he wer’ drivin’ sumpin’ out, en Mr. Buzzard he rush ‘roun’ fer ter ketch de squir’l, en Brer Rabbit, he dash out, he did, en he des fly fer home.”

At this point Uncle Remus took one of the teacakes, held his head back, opened his mouth, dropped the cake in with a sudden motion, looked at the little boy with an expression of astonishment, and then closed his eyes, and begun to chew, mumbling as an accompaniment the plaintive tune of “Don’t you Grieve atter Me.”

The seance was over; but, before the little boy went into the “big house,” Uncle Remus laid his rough hand tenderly on the child’s shoulder, and remarked, in a confidential tone:

“Honey, you mus’ git up soon Chris’mus mawnin’ en open de do’; kase I’m gwineter bounce in on Marse John en Miss Sally, en holler ‘Chris’mus gif” des like I useter endurin’ de farmin’ days fo’ de war, w’en ole Miss wuz ‘live. I bound’ dey don’t fergit de ole nigger, nudder. W’en you hear me callin’ de pigs, honey, you des hop up en onfassen de do’. I lay I’ll give Marse John one er dese yer ‘sprize parties.”

FOOTNOTE: [1] Patrols. In the country districts, order was kept on the plantations at night by the knowledge that they were liable to be visited at any moment by the patrols. Hence a song current among the negroes, the chorus of which was:

“Run, nigger, run; patter-roller ketch you–
Run, nigger, run; hit’s almos’ day.”