on he fiddle 'fo' de wuss come
ter de wuss. Wid dat he ontie de bag en take out de fiddle, en 'gun ter
chune 'er up--_plink, plank, plunk, plink! plunk, plank, plink, plunk!_"

Uncle Remus's imitation of the tuning of a fiddle was marvellous enough
to produce a startling effect upon a much less enthusiastic listener
than the little boy. It was given in perfect good faith, but the serious
expression on the old man's face was so irresistibly comic that the
child laughed until the tears ran down his face. Uncle Remus very
properly accepted this as a tribute to his wonderful resources as a
story-teller, and continued, in great good-humor:

"W'en ole Miss Wolf year dat kinder fuss, co'se she dunner w'at is it,
en she drap 'er knife en lissen. Ole Mr. Benjermun Ram aint know dis,
en he keep on chunin' up--_plank, plink, plunk, plank!_ Den ole Miss
Wolf, she tuck'n hunch Brer Wolf wid 'er elbow, en she say, sez she:

"'Hey, ole man! w'at dat?"

"Den bofe un um cock up der years en lissen, en des 'bout dat time ole
Mr. Benjermun Ram he sling de butt er de fiddle up und' he chin, en
struck up one er dem ole-time chunes."

"Well, what tune was it, Uncle Remus?" the little boy asked, with some
display of impatience.

"Ef I aint done gone en fergit dat chune off'n my min'," continued
Uncle Remus; "hit sorter went like dat ar song 'bout 'Sheep shell co'n
wid de rattle er his ho'n,' en yit hit mout er been dat ar yuther one
'bout 'Roll de key, ladies, roll dem keys.' Brer Wolf en ole Miss Wolf,
dey lissen en lissen, en de mo' w'at dey lissen de skeerder dey git,
twel bimeby dey tuck ter der heels en make a break fer de swamp at de
back er de house des lak de patter-rollers wuz atter um.

"W'en ole man Benjermun Ram sorter let up wid he fiddlin', he don't see
no Brer Wolf, en he don't year no ole Miss Wolf. Den he look in de back
room; no Wolf dar. Den he look in de back po'ch; no Wolf dar. Den he
look in de closet en de cubberd; no Wolf aint dar yit. Den ole Mr.
Benjermun Ram, he tuck'n shot all de do's en lock um, en he s'arch
'roun' en he fine some peas en fodder in de lof', w'ich he et um fer he
supper, en den he lie down front er de fier en sleep soun' ez a log.

"Nex' mawnin' he 'uz up en stirrin' monst'us soon, en he put out fum
dar, en he fine de way ter Miss Meadows' time 'nuff fer ter play at de
frolic. W'en he git dar, Miss Meadows en de gals, dey run ter de gate
fer ter meet 'im, en dis un tuck he hat, en dat un t