HOW BRER FOX WAS TOO SMART 
w’en dey walks up in a crowd whar de yuthers all a-gigglin\ He 
tuck’n kotch de dry grins terreckerly. But dey all howdied, en 
Miss Meadows, she up’n say: — 
“‘You’ll des hatter skuse us, Brer Fox, on de ’count er dish yer 
gigglement. Tooby sho’, hit monst’us disperlite fer we-all fer to 
be gwine on dat a-way; but I mighty glad you come, en I sez ter 
de gals, sT, “’Fo’ de Lord, gals! dar come Brer Fox, en yer we is 
a-gigglin’ en a-gwine on scan’lous; yit hit done come ter mighty 
funny pass,” s’l, “ef you can’t run on en laugh ’fo’ home folks,” 
s ’I. Dat des ’zactly w’at I say, en I leave it ter ole Brer Rabbit en 
de gals yer ef’t ain’t.’ 
“De gals, dey tuck’n jine in, dey did, en dey make ole Brer Fox 
feel right splimmy-splammy, en dey all sot dar en run on ’bout 
dey neighbors des lak folks does deze days. Dey sot dar, dey did, 
twel atter w’ile Brer Rabbit look out todes sundown, en ’low: — 
“‘Now, den, folks and fr’en’s, I bleedz ter say goo’ bye. Cloud 
cornin’ up out yan, en mos’ ’fo’ we know it de rain ’ll be a-po’in’ 
en de grass ’ll be a-growin’.’ ” 
“Why, that’s poetry, Uncle Remus!” interrupted the little 
boy. 
“Tooby sho’ ’t is, honey! tooby sho’ ’t is. I des let you know 
Brer Rabbit ’uz a mighty man in dem days. Brer Fox, he see de 
cloud cornin’ up, en he up’n ’low he ’speck he better be gittin’ 
’long hisse’f, ’kaze he ain’t wanter git he Sunday-go-ter-meetin’ 
cloze wet. Miss Meadows en Miss Motts, en de gals, dey want 
um ter stay, but bofe er dem ar creeturs ’uz mighty fear’d er 
gittin’ der foots wet, en atter w’ile dey put out. 
“ W’iles dey ’uz gwine down de big road, jawin’ at one er ’n’er. 
Brer Fox, he tuck’n stop right quick, en ’low: — 
“‘Run yer. Brer Rabbit! run yer! Ef my eye ain’t ’ceive me yer 
de signs whar Mr. Dog bin ’long, en mo’n dat dey er right fresh.’ 
“Brer Rabbit, he sidle up en look. Den he ’low: — 
“‘Dat ar track ain’t never fit Mr. Dog foot in de roun’ worl’. 
ni 
