butter. Brer Rabbit en Brer Fox dey is bofe 'gree, dey did, en
dey whirl in en b'il' de breshheap, en dey b'il' her high en dey
b'il' her wide, en den dey totch her off. W'en she got ter
blazin' up good, Brer Rabbit, he tuck de fus turn. He sorter step
back, en look 'roun' en giggle, en over he went mo' samer dan a
bird flyin'. Den come Brer Fox. He got back little fudder, en
spit on his han's, en lit out en made de jump, en he come so nigh
gittin' in dat de een' er his tail kotch afier. Ain't you never
see no fox, honey?" inquired Uncle Remus, in a tone that implied
both conciliation and information.

The little boy thought probably he had, but he wouldn't commit
himself.

"Well, den," continued the old man, "nex' time you see one un um,
you look right close en see ef de een' er his tail ain't w'ite.
Hit's des like I tell you. Dey b'ars de skyar er dat bresh-heap
down ter dis day. Dey er marked--dat's w'at dey is--dey er
marked."

"And what about Brother Possum?" asked the little boy.

"Ole Brer Possum, he tuck a runnin' start, he did, en he come
lumberin' 'long, en he lit--kerblam!--right in de middle er de
fier, en dat wuz de las' er ole Brer Possum."

"But, Uncle Remus, Brother Possum didn't steal the butter after
all," said the little boy, who was not at all satisfied with such
summary injustice.