NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS 
Tempy was transforming a meal-sack into shirts for some of the 
little negroes, — a piece of economy of her own devising. Uncle 
Remus pretended not to see the child. 
“ Hit’s des lak I tell you all,” he remarked, as if renewing a con¬ 
versation; “I monst’us glad dey ain’t no bad chilluns on dis place 
fer ter be wadin’ in de spring-branch, en hingin’ mud on de yuther 
little chilluns, w’ich de goodness knows dey er nasty nuff bidout 
dat. I monst’us glad dey ain’t none er dat kinder young uns 
’roun’ yer — I is dat.” 
“Now, Uncle Remus,” exclaimed the little boy, in an injured 
tone, “somebody’s been telling you something on me.” 
The old man appeared to be very much astonished. 
“Heyo! whar you bin hidin’, honey? Yer’t is mos’ way atter 
supper en you ain’t in de bed yit. Well — well — w^ell! Sit over 
ag’in in de chimbly jam dar whar you kin dry dem shoes. En de 
ve’y nex’ time w’at I see you wadin’ in dat branch, wid de sickly 
season cornin’ on, I’m a-gwine ter take you ’cross my shoulder en 
kyar you ter Miss Sally, en ef dat ain’t do no good, den I’ll kyar 
you ter Mars John, en ef dat ain’t do no good, den I’m done 
wid you, so dar now!” 
The little boy sat silent a long time, listening to the casual talk 
of Uncle Remus and his guests, and watching the vapor rise from 
his wet shoes. Presently there was a pause in the talk, and the 
child said: — 
“Uncle Remus, have I been too bad to hear a story?” 
The old man straightened himself up and pushed his spectacles 
back on his forehead. 
“ Now, den, folks, you year w’at he say. Shill we pursue on atter 
de creeturs? Shill er shan’t?” 
“Bless yo’ soul, Brer Remus, I mos’ ’shame’ myse’f, yit I tell 
you de Lord’s trufe, I’m des ez bad atter dem ar tales ez dat chile 
dar.” 
“Well, den,” said Uncle Remus, “a tale hit is. One time dey 
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