"Oh, I'm goin' to stick, Uncle Remus. You kin put your money on dat. Deze town boys can't play no more uv dere games on me. I'm fixed. Can't you lend me a dime, Uncle Remus, to buy me a pie?

I'm dat hongry dat my stomach is gittin' ready to go in mo'nin."

Uncle Remus eyed Charley curiously a moment, while the latter looked quietly at his timber toe. Finally, the old man sighed and spoke:

"How long is you bin in de chu'ch, son?"

"Mighty near a week," replied Charley.

"Well, lemme tell you dis, now, 'fo' you go enny fudder. You ain't bin in dar long nuff fer ter go 'roun' takin' up conterbutions.

Wait ontwell you gits sorter seasoned like, an' den I'll hunt 'roun' in my cloze an' see ef I can't run out a thrip er two fer you. But don't you levy taxes too early."

Charley laughed, and said he would let the old man off if he would treat to a watermelon.

XVII. AS TO EDUCATION

As Uncle Remus came up Whitehall Street recently, he met a little colored boy carrying a slate and a number of books. Some words pa.s.sed between them, but their exact purport will probably never be known. They were unpleasant, for the attention of a wandering policeman was called to the matter by hearing the old man bawl out:

"Don't you come foolin' longer me, n.i.g.g.e.r. You er flippin' yo'

sa.s.s at de wrong color. You k'n go roun' yer an' sa.s.s deze w'ite people, an' maybe dey'll stan' it, but w'en you come a-slingin'

yo' jaw at a man w'at wuz gray w'en de fahmin' days gin out, you better go an' git yo' hide greased."

"What's the matter, old man?" asked a sympathizing policeman.

"Nothin', boss, 'ceppin I ain't gwineter hav' no n.i.g.g.e.r chillun a hoopin' an' a hollerin' at me w'en I'm gwine long de streets."

"Oh, well, school-children--you know how they are.

"Dat's w'at make I say w'at I duz. Dey better be home pickin' up chips. W'at a n.i.g.g.e.r gwineter larn outen books? I kin take a bar'l stave an' fling mo' sense inter a n.i.g.g.e.r in one minnit dan all de schoolhouses betwixt dis en de State er Midgigin. Don't talk, honey! Wid one bar'l stave I kin fa'rly lif' de vail er ignunce."

"Then you don't believe in education?"

"Hit's de ruinashun er dis country. Look at my gal. De ole 'oman sont 'er ter school las' year, an' now we da.s.sent hardly ax 'er fer ter kyar de washin' home. She done got beyant 'er bizness. I ain't larnt nuthin' in books, 'en yit I kin count all de money I gits. No use talkin', boss. Put a spellin'-book in a n.i.g.g.e.r's han's, en right den en dar' you loozes a plow-hand. I done had de speunce un it."

XVIII. A TEMPERANCE REFORMER

"Yer come Uncle Remus," said a well-dressed negro, who was standing on the sidewalk near James's bank recently, talking to a crowd of barbers. "Yer come Uncle Remus. I boun' he'll sign it."

"You'll fling yo' money away ef you bet on it," responded Uncle Remus. "I ain't turnin' nothin' loose on chu'ch 'scriptions. I wants money right now fer ter git a pint er meal."

'Tain't dat."

"An' I ain't heppin fer ter berry n.o.body. Much's I kin do ter keep de bref in my own body."

"'Tain't dat, nudder."

"An' I ain't puttin' my han' ter no reckommends. I'm fear'd fer ter say a perlite wud 'bout myself, an' I des know I ain't gwine 'roun' flatter'n up deze udder n.i.g.g.e.rs."

"An' 'tain't dat," responded the darkey, who held a paper in his hand. "We er gittin' up a Good Tempeler's lodge, an' we like ter git yo' name."

"Eh-eh, honey! I done see too much er dis n.i.g.g.e.r tempunce. Dey stan' up mighty squar' ontwell dere dues commence ter cramp um, an' dey don't stan' de racket wuf a durn. No longer'n yistiddy I seed one er de head men er one er dese Tempeler's s'cieties totin' water fer a bar-room. He had de water in a bucket, but dey ain't no tellin' how much red licker he wuz a totin'. G'long, chile--jine yo' s'ciety an' be good ter yo'se'f. I'm a gittin'

too ole. Gimme th'ee er fo' drams endurin' er de day, an' I'm mighty nigh ez good a tempunce man ez de next un. I got ter scuffle fer sump'n t'eat."

XIX. AS A WEATHER PROPHET

UNCLE REMUS was enlightening a crowd of negroes at the car-shed yesterday.

"Dar ain't nuthin'," said the old man, shaking his head pensively, "dat ain't got no change wrote on it. Dar ain't nothin dat ain't spotted befo' hit begins fer ter commence. We all speunces dat p'overdence w'at lifts us up fum one place an' sets us down in de udder. Hit's continerly a movin' an a movin'."

"Dat's so!" "You er talkin' now!" came from several of his hearers.

"I year Miss Sally readin' dis mawnin," continued the old man, "dat a man wuz comin' down yer fer ter take keer er de wedder-- wunner deze yer Buro mens w'at goes 'roun' a puttin' up an'

pullin' down."

"W'at he gwine do 'roun' yer?" asked one.

"He's a gwineter regelate de wedder," replied Uncle Remus, sententiously. "He's a gwineter fix hit up so dat dere won't be so much worriment 'mong de w'ite fokes 'bout de kinder wedder w'at falls to dere lot."

"He gwine dish em up," suggested one of the older ones, "like man dish out sugar.

"No," answered Uncle Remus, mopping his benign features with a very large and very red bandana. "He's a gwineter fix um better'n dat. He's a gwineter fix um up so you kin have any kinder wedder w'at you want widout totin' her home."

"How's dat?" asked some one.

"Hit's dis way," said the old man, thoughtfully. "In co'se you knows w'at kinder wedder you wants. Well, den, w'en de man comes long, w'ich Miss Sally say he will, you des gotter go up dar, pick out yo' wedder an' dere'll be a clock sot fer ter suit yo'

case, an' w'en you git home, dere'll be yo' wedder a settin' out in de yard waitin' fer you. I wish he wuz yer now," the old man continued. "I'd take a pa'r er frosts in mine, ef I kotched cold fer it. Dat's me!"

There were various exclamations of a.s.sent, and the old man went on his way singing, "Don't you Grieve Atter Me."

XX. THE OLD MAN'S TROUBLES

"WHAT makes you look so lonesome, Brer Remus?" asked a well- dressed negro, as the old man came shuffling down the street by James's corner yesterday.

"You er mighty right, I'm lonesome, Brer John Henry. W'en a ole n.i.g.g.e.r like me is gotter paddle de canoe an' do de fishin' at de same time, an' w'en you bleedzd ter ketch de fish an' da.s.sent turn de paddle loose fer ter bait de hook, den I tell you, Brer John, you er right whar de mink had de goslin'. Mars John and Miss Sally, dey done bin gone down unto Putmon County fer ter see der kinfolks mighty nigh fo' days, an' you better bleeve I done bin had ter scratch 'roun' mighty lively fer ter make de rashuns run out even.

"I wuz at yo' house las' night, Brer Remus," remarked Brer John Henry, "but I couldn't roust you outer bed."

"Hit was de unseasonableness er de hour, I speck," said Uncle Remus, dryly. "'Pears unto me dat you all chu'ch deacons settin'

up mighty late deze col' nights. You'll be slippin' round arter hours some time er nudder, an you'll slip bodaciously inter de calaboose. You mine w'at I tell you."

"It's mighty col' wedder," said Brer John Henry, evidently wishing to change the subject.

"Col'!" exclaimed Uncle Remus; "hit got pas' col' on der quarter stretch. You oughter come to my house night 'fo' las'. Den you'd a foun' me 'live an' kickin'."

"How's dat?"