'n'er
ager.

"Den Brer Wolf tuck'n flung 'n'er lighter'd-knot on de fier, en den he
slip inter de back room, en present'y, w'iles ole Mr. Benjermun Ram wuz
settin' dar shakin' in he shoes, he year Brer Wolf whispun' ter he ole
'oman:--

"'Ole 'oman! ole 'oman! Fling 'way yo' smoke meat--fresh meat fer
supper! Fling 'way yo' smoke meat--fresh meat fer supper!'

"Den ole Miss Wolf, she talk out loud, so Mr. Benjermun Ram kin year:--

"'Tooby sho' I'll fix 'im some supper. We er 'way off yer in de woods,
so fur fum comp'ny dat goodness knows I'm mighty glad ter see Mr.
Benjermun Ram.'

"Den Mr. Benjermun Ram year ole Miss Wolf whettin' 'er knife on a
rock--_shirrah! shirrah! shirrah!_--en ev'y time he year de knife say
_shirrah!_ he know he dat much nigher de dinner-pot. He know he can't
git 'way, en w'iles he settin' dar studyin', hit come 'cross he min' dat
he des mought ez well play one mo' chune 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 ain't 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 ain't 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