water on the Wolf and killed him," said the little boy.

The old man pretended not to hear. He was engaged in searching
among some scraps of leather under his chair, and kept on talking
to the imaginary person. Finally, he found and drew forth a
nicely plaited whip-thong with a red snapper all waxed and
knotted.

"I wuz fixin' up a w'ip fer a little chap," he continued, with a
sigh, "but, bless grashus! 'fo' I kin git 'er done de little chap
done grow'd up twel he know mo'n I duz."

The child's eyes filled with tears and his lips began to quiver,
but he said nothing; whereupon Uncle Remus immediately melted.

"I 'clar' to goodness," he said, reaching out and taking the
little boy tenderly by the hand, "ef you ain't de ve'y spit en
image er ole Miss w'en I brung 'er de las' news er de war. Hit's
des like skeerin' up a ghos' w'at you ain't fear'd un."

Then there was a pause, the old man patting the little child's
hand caressingly.

"You ain't mad, is you, honey?" Uncle Remus asked finally, "kaze
ef you is, I'm gwine out yere en butt my head 'gin de do' jam'."

But the little boy wasn't mad. Uncle Remus had conquered him and
he had conquered Uncle Remus in pretty much the same way before.
But it was some time before Uncle Remus would go on with the
story. He had to be coaxed. At last, however, he settled himself