efully and deliberately laying the basis of a judicial
opinion, "en den w'en you sail in en talk bizness, den she up en gun you
de flat un 'er foot en de back un 'er han', en den, atter dat, she
tuck'n laff en make spote un you."

"Enty!" assented Daddy Jack, admiringly.

"Well, den, Brer Jack, youer mighty ole, en yit hit seem lak youer
mighty young; kaze a man w'at aint got no mo' speunce wid wimmen folks
dan w'at you is neenter creep 'roun' yer callin' deyse'f ole. Dem kinder
folks aint ole nuff, let 'lone bein' too ole. W'en de gal tuck'n laff,
Brer Jack, w'at 'uz yo' nex' move?" demanded Uncle Remus, looking down
upon the shrivelled old man with an air of superiority.

Daddy Jack shut his shrewd little eyes tightly and held them so, as if
by that means to recall all the details of the flirtation. Then he
said:

"Da' lilly gal is bin tek dem t'ing. 'E is bin say, 'T'anky, t'anky.'
Him eaty da' 'possum, him eaty da' pop-co'n, him roas'n da' taty. 'E do
say, 'T'anky, t'anky!' Wun I talk marry, 'e is bin ris 'e v'ice un
squeal lak lilly pig stuck in 'e t'roat. 'E do holler: 'Hi, Daddy Jack!
wut is noung gal gwan do wit' so ole man lak dis?' Un I is bin say: 'Wut
noung gal gwan do wit' ole Chris'mus' cep' 'e do 'joy 'ese'f?' Un da'
lil gal 'e do lahff un flut 'ese'f way fum dey-dey."

"I know'd a nigger one time," said Uncle Remus, after pondering a
moment, "w'at tuck a notion dat he want a bait er 'simmons, en de mo'
w'at de notion tuck 'im de mo' w'at he want um, en bimeby, hit look lak
he des nat'ally erbleedz ter have um. He want de 'simmons, en dar dey is
in de tree. He mouf water, en dar hang de 'simmons. Now, den, w'at do
dat nigger do? W'en you en me en dish yer chile yer wants 'simmons, we
goes out en shakes de tree, en ef deyer good en ripe, down dey comes, en
ef deyer good en green, dar dey stays. But dish yer yuther nigger, he
too smart fer dat. He des tuck'n tuck he stan' und' de tree, en he open
he mouf, he did, en wait fer de 'simmons fer ter drap in dar. Dey aint
none drap in yit," continued Uncle Remus, gently knocking the cold ashes
out of his pipe; "en w'at's mo', dey aint none gwine ter drap in dar.
Dat des 'zackly de way wid Brer Jack yer, 'bout marryin'; he stan' dar,
he do, en he hol' bofe han's wide open en he 'speck de gal gwine ter
drap right spang in um. Man want gal, he des got ter grab 'er--dat 's
w'at. Dey may squall en dey may flutter, but flutter'n' en squallin'
aint done no damage y