294 
THE LADIES'' FLORAL CABINET. 
That night the children besieged Uncle Isaac as usual 
for a story, and June, anxious also to be amused, joined 
the little group. The old man sat in the starlight 
smoking his corn-cob pipe. “Well? chillun, w’at tale 
shill oT Uncle ’cite to ye dis ebenin’ ? ” he said between 
the puffs. 
“O! tell us about the wolf, the rabbit, and the tar- 
baby,” exclaimed Jessie. 
“ ’Clar, ef you ain’t de beatenes’ lill gal I ever seed. 
I’se done tol’ dat story more’n a hunnerd times, so den 
■dish yer mak’s n’er time.” 
Uncle Isaac knocked the ashes from his pipe and be¬ 
gan: “ Hit so happen dat one day Br’er Wolf meet up 
wid Br’er Rabbit, dey pass de time er day, an’ den Br’er 
Wolf Tow, cause water mighty skace, he gwineter dig 
him a well, an’ he tuck’n ’vite Br’er Rabbit fer to hope 
Tin, but Br’er Rabbit say, ‘ I don’ wan’ no water out’n 
no well; I gets my drink off’n de bushes in the mawnin’.’ 
So Br’er Wolf done dig de well hisse’f—hit mighty deep, 
hit mighty full. Den come a dry time, ain’t no rain in 
de day; ain’t no djew in the night; ’pears lak Br’er 
Rabbit des nat’ally pe’sh hisse’f to def, so he up an Tow 
he bleedz ter get some er dat water out’n dat well, an’ 
’arly in the mawnin’ w’iles Br’er Wolf am a sno’in’ 
fitten to tek de ruf, Br’er Rabbit fotcli a jug, an’ fill it 
up out’n de well. Den he up an done Br’er Wolf a 
mighty lia’sh trick, fer he tuck’n fling splinters an 
light’d knots an’ heap mo’ trash inter de well, an’ den 
lipt out fer home. Br’er Wolf bleedz to clar out all dat 
•stuff hisse’f, he had his ’spishuns, but ain’t bin sayin’ 
nothin’. 
De days runned on twel der come ne’r dry time, en 
lo en beholes, Br’er Rabbit git up ’aiTy in de mawnin’, 
an’ play de same pranks, an’ Br’er Wolf bleedz to clar 
out all dat truck n’er time. Dis time Br’er Wolf Tow 
to hisse'f he gwineter mek a trap’n cotcli sump’n; so he 
mek a ta’-baby—look des de same lak lill cullud gal— 
an’ set'de ta’-baby dost by de well. Br’er Rabbit rise 
up ’arly in de mawnin’, an’ crope along twel he come 
mos’ to de well, an’ dere he saw lill gal; he up’n say, 
Heyo gal, w’at yo’ name?’ Ta’-baby ain’t said nuthin 
to nobody. ‘Gal, why you no speak me?’ Gal ain’t 
said nuthin’ to nobody. ‘ Gal, you no wan’ ter talk, I 
mek you talk; I hit you smack an’ smoov wid my han’.’ 
Br’er Rabbit lissen and lissen—ain’t year nuthin’— 
Tie wait an’ wait, nobody ain’t say nuthin’, so he 
tuck his right han’ an’ let'fly at de ta’-baby, an’ his han 
stuck fas’. Den Br’er Rabbit squall out ‘ Tu’n me loose, 
tu’n me loose, er I hit you wid ne’r han’.’ Gal she hel’ 
on mighty tight, so Br’er Rabbit he up’n gun um a rap 
with his lef’ lian’ an’ dat han ’ stuck fas'. ‘ You gal, 
Tu’n me loose, ef you don’ tu’n me loose, I done kick 
you! ’ Gal ain’t tu’n nobody loose. So Br’er Rabbit 
done kick um wid bof e’ beliine foot, an' e' foot stuck 
Las'. ‘ Gal, you see my long w’ite toof ? ef you don’ lef’ 
me go, I gwine bite you troo an’ troo.’ Gal ain’t lef’ 
nobody go. So den Br’er Rabbit he bite mighty hard, 
an’ he bite mighty long, en lo en beholes, e' jaw stuck 
fas'. Das den, ’long come Br’er Wolf down de big 
road. ‘ Ah-yi,’sezee, ‘my lill gal done catch sump’n; 
now, Br’er Rabbit, say yer pra’rs, cause I’se des nat’ally 
gwineter snatch ye slouchways.’ When Br’er Rabbit 
year Br’er Wolf talk dat a-way, he ’gun to git mighty 
skeered, an’ he say, ‘ Oh, Br’er Wolf, let me-a go dis yere 
one time; but Br'er Wolf des grin, en lick his chops. 
So Br’er Rabbit lay mighty still en study; atter a while 
he chune up en say, ‘ Whar you gwine kyar me, Br’er 
Wolf ? ’ ‘ I dunnodes yit, Br’er Rabbit.’ ‘ Pleas’, Br’er 
Wolf, I has des one ’ques to mak’ ob you ’fore I die, you 
may kill me, you may eat me, you may bu’n me, but 
don ’ trow me in de briar-patch.’ ‘Den dat des w’at 
I’se gwineter do,’ sez Br’er Wolf, an’ tuck’n fling ’im 
’way in the middle ob de patch. But laws bless you, 
honey, dat des w’at Br’er Rabbit wanted, an’ he lie dar 
laffin’ fitten to split, fer he was bo'n en raise' in de 
briar-patch. Old Miss Rabbit she crope roun’ an’ 
loosen’ up her oP man, an’ de nex’ day he was des as 
limbersome as eber.” 
The children laughed heartily at this their favorite 
story, and then kept Uncle Isaac busy till bed-time. 
The next day, while her father was still absent, June 
started a little class for her brother and sister; she was 
very patient and loving, and they, although they were 
about as restless as young kittens, tried very hard to be 
good and obedient. She made the- studies very inter¬ 
esting by explaining everything in her own bright way, 
and after study-hour was over, Tom confided his feel¬ 
ings to Jessie, in the following terms: “I say, Jess, 
don’t she know a lot! I’d like to go school to her 
seventeen days in the week ! ” Evening came and time 
for the expected arrival of their father. Uncle Isaac 
had gone to meet the boat; it was somewhat later than 
usual when he arrived, and when Col. Wallingford 
stepped from the carriage, he moved like another man. 
Slowly, with feeble step and bent head, he passed to his 
room, and shut himself in, not heeding the caresses of 
his children. “Uncle Isaac, what is the matter with 
papa,” questioned June, with anxious face. “ ’Pears 
lak as how yo’re pa’s done struck a heap o’ trouble, 
Missy June,” said the old darkey, soberly, “nebber said 
nuthin’ to me nohow, cornin’ over, only onct in a w’ile 
he des fetched a powerful big sigh.” Aunt Sally sud¬ 
denly disappeared into the kitchen, where she fitted up 
a dainty tray with a cup of good tea, and a generous 
slice of delicately browned toast; this she brought to 
June, and said earnestly, “Heah, honey, you des take 
dis mossel in ter yer pa, an’ kinder coax him to swallow 
a mite; ’pears like trouble an’ hunger, bof togedder, 
too much to b’ar at one time.” June knocked softly at 
the closed door; “come in,” answered a muffled voice, 
and entering she saw her father seated at his desk, 
papers and documents scattered around in great con¬ 
fusion, his head bowed on his arms, his form motion¬ 
less. Setting down her tray, and laying her hand 
gently on his bent head, she said tenderly, “Tell June 
what troubles you, papa.” A deep sigh was her only 
answer. She nestled her hand in his, and was silent, 
for she was one of those rare comforters who know 
when to hold their peace. 
After a time he raised his head, and gathered her into 
his arms, while a deep sob broke from his heart, “ O! 
June, my darling child, how can I tell you! We are 
ruined, ruined, even this roof that shelters us is no 
longer ours; we are ruined, homeless, lost! ” Poor June 
was distressed beyond measure, not only at his words, 
but at his ghastly face, and starting eyes. Using all 
her powers of persuasion, she coaxed him to drink a 
little tea, to taste a morsel of toast, and, though he ate 
and drank mechanically, the effort was good for him, 
as he was faint and weak from lack of nourishment, 
having been too excited to take food since morning. 
Refreshed and quieted somewhat, he v^ls able to talk 
