BRER FOX’S FISH-TRAP 
LXIX 
BRER FOX’S FISH-TRAP 
The little boy wanted Uncle Remus to sing some more; but before 
the old man could either consent or refuse, the notes of a horn 
were heard in the distance. Uncle Remus lifted his hand to com¬ 
mand silence, and bent his head in an attitude of attention. 
“Des listen at dat!” he exclaimed, with some show of indigna¬ 
tion. “Dat ain’t nothin’ in de roun’ worl’ but ole man Plato wid 
dat tin hawn er his’n, en I boun’ you he’s a-drivin’ de six mule 
waggin, en de waggin full er niggers fum de River place, en let 
’lone dat, I boun’ you deyer niggers strung out behime de wag¬ 
gin fer mo’n a mile, en deyer all er cornin’ yer fer ter eat us all 
out’n house en home, des ’kaze dey year folks say Chris’mus mos’ 
yer. Hit’s mighty kuse unter me dat ole man Plato ain’t done 
toot dat hawn full er holes long ’fo’ dis. 
“Yit I ain’t blamin’ um,” Uncle Remus went on, with a sigh, 
after a little pause. “Dem ar niggers bin livin’ ’way off dar on de 
River place* whar dey ain’t no w’ite folks twel dey er done in 
about run’d wil’. I ain’t a-blamin’ um, dat I ain’t.” 
Plato’s horn — a long tin bugle — was by no means unmusical. 
Its range was limited, but in Plato’s hands its few notes were both 
powerful and sweet. Presently the wagon arrived, and for a few 
minutes all was confusion, the negroes on the Home place run¬ 
ning to greet the new-comers, who were mostly their relatives. 
A stranger hearing the shouts and outcries of these people would 
have been at a loss to account for the commotion. 
Even Uncle Remus went to his cabin door, and, with the little 
boy by his side, looked out upon the scene, — a tumult lit up by 
torches of resinous pine. The old man and the child were recog¬ 
nized, and for a few moments the air was filled with cries of: 
“Howdy, Unk Remus! Howdy, little Marster!” 
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