xture of sorrow and bewilderment. Catching the child by the
coat-sleeve, Uncle Remus pulled him gently to attract his attention.

"Hit look like ter me," he said presently, in the tone of one
approaching an unpleasant subject, "dat no longer'n yistiddy I see one
er dem ar Favers chillun clim'in' dat ar big red-oak out yan', en den it
seem like dat a little chap 'bout yo' size, he tuck'n start up ter see
ef he can't play smarty like de Favers's yearlin's. I dunner w'at in de
name er goodness you wanter be a-copyin' atter dem ar Faverses fer. Ef
you er gwine ter copy atter yuther folks, copy atter dem w'at's some
'count. Yo' pa, he got de idee dat some folks is good ez yuther folks;
but Miss Sally, she know better. She know dat dey aint no Favers 'pon
de top side er de yeth w'at kin hol' der han' wid de Abercrombies in
p'int er breedin' en raisin'. Dat w'at Miss Sally know. I bin keepin'
track er dem Faverses sence way back yan' long 'fo' Miss Sally wuz
born'd. Ole Cajy Favers, he went ter de po'house, en ez ter dat Jim
Favers, I boun' you he know de inside er all de jails in dish yer State
er Jawjy. Dey allers did hate niggers kase dey aint had none, en dey
hates um down ter dis day.

"Year 'fo' las'," Uncle Remus continued, "I year yo Unk' Jeems
Abercrombie tell dat same Jim Favers dat ef he lay de weight er he han'
on one er his niggers, he'd slap a load er buck shot in 'im; en, bless
yo' soul, honey, yo' Unk' Jeems wuz des de man ter do it. But dey er
monst'us perlite unter me, dem Faverses is," pursued the old man,
allowing his indignation, which had risen to a white heat, to cool off,
"en dey better be," he added spitefully, "kase I knows der pedigree fum
de fus' ter de las', en w'en I gits my Affikin up, dey aint nobody,
'less it's Miss Sally 'erse'f, w'at kin keep me down.

"But dat aint needer yer ner dar," said Uncle Remus, renewing his
attack upon the little boy. "W'at you wanter go copyin' atter dem Favers
chillun fer? Youer settin' back dar, right dis minnit, bettin' longer
yo'se'f dat I aint gwine ter tell Miss Sally, en dar whar youer lettin'
yo' foot slip, kaze I'm gwine ter let it pass dis time, but de ve'y nex'
time w'at I ketches you in hollerin' distuns er dem Faverses, right den
en dar I'm gwine ter take my foot in my han' en go en tell Miss Sally,
en ef she don't natally skin you 'live, den she aint de same 'oman w'at
she useter be.

"All dish yer copyin' atter deze yer Faverses put me in min' er