NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS 
“Wid dat, Mr. Hawk tuck’n sail off, en Brer Buzzard drop he 
wings down on de lim’ en look mighty lonesome. He sot dar en 
look mighty lonesome, he did, but he keep one eye on Mr. Hawk. 
“Mr. Hawk, he sail ’roun’ en ’roun’, en he look mighty purty. 
He sail ’roun’ en ’roun’ ’bove de hoss-lot — ’roun’ en ’roun’ — en 
bimeby he dart down at chick’ns. He shot up he wings en dart 
down, he did, des same ef he ’uz fired out’n a gun.” 
“Watch out, pullets!” exclaimed ’Tildy, in a tone of warning. 
“He dart down, he did,” continued Uncle Remus, rubbing his 
hand thoughtfully across the top of his head, “but stidder he 
hittin’ de chick’ns, he tuck’n hit ’pon de sharp een’ un a fence- 
rail. He hit dar, he did, en dar he stuck.” 
“Ah-yi-ee!” exclaimed Daddy Jack. 
“ Dar he stuck. Brer Buzzard sot en watch ’im. Mr. Hawk ain’t 
move. Brer Buzzard sot en watch ’im some mo’. Mr. Hawk ain’t 
move. He done stone dead. De mo’ Brer Buzzard watch ’im de 
mo’ hongrier he git, en bimeby he gedder up he wings, en sorter 
clean out he year wid he claw, en ’low, sezee: — 
“‘I know’d de Lord ’uz gwineter pervide.’” 
“Trufe too!” exclaimed Aunt Tempy. “’T ain’t bin in my 
min’ dat Buzzard got sense lak dat!” 
“Dar’s whar you missed it, Sis Tempy,” said Uncle Remus 
gravely. “Brer Buzzard, he tuck’n drap down fum de dead lim’, 
en he lit on Mr. Hawk, en had ’im fer brekkus. Hit’s a mighty 
’roun’ about w^ay fer ter git chick’n-pie, yit hit’s lots better dan 
no way.” 
“I ’speck Hawk do tas’e like chicken,” remarked ’Tildy. 
“Dey mos’ sho’ly does,” said Uncle Remus, with emphasis. 
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