"You er chawin' guv'nment now, boss. You slap de law onter a n.i.g.g.e.r a time er two, an' larn 'im dat he's got fer to look after his own rashuns an' keep out'n udder fokes's chick'n-coops, an'

sorter coax 'im inter de idee dat he's got ter feed 'is own chilluns, an' I be blessed ef you ain't got 'im on risin' groun'.

An', mo'n dat, w'en he gits holt er de fack dat a n.i.g.g.e.r k'n have yaller fever same ez w'ite folks, you done got 'im on de mo'ners'

bench, an' den ef you come down strong on de p'int dat he oughter stan' fas' by de fokes w'at hope him w'en he wuz in trouble de job's done. W'en you does dat, ef you ain't got yo' han's on a new-made n.i.g.g.e.r, den my name ain't Remus, an' ef dat name's bin changed I ain't seen her abbertized."

IX. IN THE ROLE OF A TARTAR

A CHARLESTON negro who was in Atlanta on the Fourth of July made a mistake. He saw Uncle Remus edging his way through the crowd, and thought he knew him.

"Howdy, Daddy Ben?" the stranger exclaimed. "I tink I nubber see you no mo'. Wey you gwan? He hot fer true, ain't he?"

"Daddy who?" asked Uncle Remus, straightening himself up with dignity. "W'ich?"

"I know you in Char'son, an' den in Sewanny. I spec I dun grow away from 'membrance."

"You knowed me in Charlstun, and den in Savanny?"

"He been long time, ain't he, Daddy Ben?"

"Dat's w'at's a pesterin' un me. How much you reckon you know'd me?"

"He good while pas'; when I wer' pickaninny. He long time ago.

Wey you gwan, Daddy Ben?"

"W'at does you season your recollection wid fer ter make it hol'

on so?" inquired the old man.

"I dunno. He stick hese'f. I see you comin' 'long 'n I say 'Dey Daddy Ben.' I tink I see you no mo', an' I shaky you by de han'.

Wey you gwan? Dey no place yer wey we git wine?"

Uncle Remus stared at the strange darkey curiously for a moment, and then he seized him by the arm.

"Come yer, son, whar dey ain't no folks an' lemme drap some Jawjy 'intment in dem years er yone. You er mighty fur ways fum home, an' you wanter be a lookin' out fer yo'se'f. Fus and fo'mus, you er thumpin' de wrong watermillion. You er w'isslin'

up de wrong chube. I ain't tromped roun' de country much. I ain't bin to Charlstun an' needer is I tuck in Savanny; but you couldn't rig up no game on me dat I wouldn't tumble on to it de minit I laid my eyeb.a.l.l.s on you. W'en hit come to dat I'm ole man Tumbler, fum Tumblersville--I is dat. Hit takes one er deze yer full-blooded w'ite men fur ter trap my jedgment. But w'en a n.i.g.g.e.r comes a jabberin' 'roun' like he got a mouf full er rice straw, he ain't got no mo' chance long side er me dan a sick sparrer wid a squinch-owl. You gutter travel wid a circus 'fo'

you gits away wid me. You better go long an' git yo' kyarpet-sack and skip de town. You er de freshest n.i.g.g.e.r w'at I seen yit."

The Charleston negro pa.s.sed on just as a police-man' came up.

"Boss, you see dat smart Ellick?"

"Yes, what's the matter with him?"

"He's one er deze yer scurshun n.i.g.g.e.rs from Charlstun. I seed you a-stannin' over agin de cornder yander, an' ef dat n.i.g.g.e.r'd a draw'd his monty kyards on me, I wuz a gwineter holler fer you.

Would you er come, boss?"

"Why, certainly, Uncle Remus."

"Dat's w'at I 'low'd. Little more'n he'd a bin aboard er de wrong waggin. Dat's w'at he'd a bin."

X. A CASE OF MEASLES

"YOU'VE been looking like you were rather under the weather for the past week or two, Uncle Remus," said a gentleman to the old man.

"You'd be sorter puny, too, boss, if you'd er bin whar I bin."

"Where have you been?"

"Pear ter me like eve'ybody done year 'bout dat. Dey ain't no ole n.i.g.g.e.r my age an' size dat's had no rattliner time dan I is."

"A kind of picnic?"

"Go long, boss! w'at you speck I be doin' sailin' 'roun' ter dese yer cullud picnics? Much mo' an' I wouldn't make bread by wukkin'

fer't, let 'lone follerin' up a pa.s.sel er boys an' gals all over keration. Boss, ain't you year 'bout it, sho' 'nuff?"

"I haven't, really. What was the matter?"

"I got strucken wid a sickness, an' she hit de ole n.i.g.g.e.r a joe- darter 'fo' she tu'n 'im loose."

"What kind of sickness?"

"Hit look sorter cu'ous, boss, but ole an' steddy ez I is, I tuck'n kotch de meezles."

"Oh, get out! You are trying to get up a sensation."

"Hit's a natal fack, boss, I declar' ter grashus ef 'tain't. Dey sorter come on wid a col', like--leas'ways dat's how I commence fer ter suffer, an' den er koff got straddle er de col'--one dese yer koffs w'at look like hit goes ter de foundash'n. I kep' on linger'n' 'roun' sorter keepin' one eye on the rheumatiz an' de udder on de distemper, twel, bimeby, I begin fer ter feel de trestle-wuk give way, an' den I des know'd dat I wuz gwineter gitter racket. I slipt inter bed one Chuseday night, an' I never slip out no mo' fer mighty nigh er mont'.

"Nex' mornin' de meezles 'd done kivered me, an' den ef I didn't git dosted by de ole 'oman I'm a Chinee. She gimme back rashuns er sa.s.safac tea. I des natchully hankered an' got hongry atter water, an ev'y time I sing out fer water I got b'ilin' hot sa.s.safac tea. Hit got so dat w'en I wake up in de mornin' de ole 'oman 'd des come long wid a kittle er tea an' fill me up. Dey tells me 'roun' town dat chilluns don't git hurted wid de meezles, w'ich ef dey don't I wanter be a baby de nex' time dey hits dis place. All dis yer meezles bizness is bran'-new ter me.

In ole times, 'fo' de wah, I ain't heer tell er no seventy-fi'- year-ole n.i.g.g.e.r grapplin' wid no meezles. Dey ain't ketchin' no mo', is dey, boss?"

"Oh, no--I suppose not."

"'Kase ef dey is, you k'n des put my name down wid de migrashun n.i.g.g.e.rs."

XI. THE EMIGRANTS

WHEN Uncle Remus went down to the pa.s.senger depot one morning recently, the first sight that caught his eye was an old negro man, a woman, and two children sitting in the shade near the door of the baggage-room. One of the children was very young, and the quartet was altogether ragged and forlorn-looking.

The sympathies of Uncle Remus were immediately aroused. He approached the group by forced marches, and finally unburdened his curiosity.

"Whar is you m'anderin' unter, pard?"

The old negro, who seemed to be rather suspicious, looked at Uncle Remus coolly, and appeared to be considering whether he should make any reply. Finally, however, he stretched himself and said:

"We er gwine down in de naberhoods er Tallypoosy, an we ain't makin' no fuss 'bout it, nudder."

"I disremember," said Uncle Remus, thoughtfully, "whar Tallypoosy is."

"Oh, hit's out yan," replied the old man, motioning his head as if it was just beyond the iron gates of the depot. "Hit's down in Alabam. When we git dar, maybe well go on twel we gits ter Ma.s.sasip."