THE STORY OF THE PIGS 
ef you’d ’a’ bin a sparrer, you mought er flew’d, but yer you is, 
en you kotch yo’se’f,’ sezee. 
“Wid dat, Mr. Man sa’nter out in de bushes en cut ’im a 
hick’ry, en he let in on Mr. Lion, en he frail en frail ’im twel 
frailin’ un ’im wuz a sin. En down ter dis day,” continued Uncle 
Remus, in a tone calculated to destroy all doubt, “you can’t git no 
Lion ter come up whar dey’s a Man a-maulin’ rails en put he paw 
in de split. Dat you can’t!” 
VIII 
THE STORY OF THE PIGS 
Uncle Remus relapsed into silence again, and the little boy, 
with nothing better to do, turned his attention to the bench upon 
which the old man kept his shoemaker’s tools. Prosecuting his 
investigations in this direction, the youngster finally suggested 
that the supply of bristles was about exhausted. 
“I dunner w’at Miss Sally wan ter be sendin’ un you down yer 
fer, ef you gwine ter be stirr’n’ en bodderin’ ’longer dem ar 
doin’s,” exclaimed Uncle Remus, indignantly. “Now don’t you 
scatter dem hog-bristle! De time wuz w’en folks had a mighty 
slim chance fer ter git bristle, en dey ain’t no tellin’ w’en dat time 
gwine come ag’in. Let ’lone dat, de time wuz w’en de breed er 
hogs wuz done run down ter one po’ little pig, en it look lak 
mighty sorry chance fer dem w’at was bleedzd ter have bristle.” 
By this time Uncle Remus’s indignation had vanished, dis¬ 
appearing as suddenly and unexpectedly as it came. The little 
boy was curious to know when and where and how the bristle 
famine occurred. 
“I done tole you ’bout dat too long ’go ter talk ’bout,” the 
old man declared; but the little boy insisted that he had never 
heard about it before, and he was so persistent that at last 
31 
