"I cl'ar ter gracious, hit look lak Miss Sally done got my name in de pot dis time, sho'. I des wish you look at dat pone¹ er co'n-bread, honey, en dem ar greens, en see ef dey ain't got Remus writ² some'rs on um. Dat ar chick'n fixin's, dey look lak deyer good, yet 'taint³ familious wid me lak dat ar bile ham. Dem ar sweet-taters, dey stan's fa'r fer dividjun, but dem ar puzzuv,[6] I lay dey fit yo' palate mo' samer dan dey does mine. Dish yer hunk er beef, we kin⁴ talk 'bout⁵ dat w'en de time come, en dem ar biscuits, I des nat'ally knows Miss Sally put um in dar fer some little chap w'ich his name I ain't gwine ter call in comp'ny."

 

It was easy to perceive that the sight of the supper had put Uncle Remus in rare good-humor. He moved around briskly, taking the plates from the waiter and distributing them with exaggerated carefulness around upon his little pine table. Meanwhile he kept up a running fire of conversation.

 

"Folks w'at kin set down en have der vittles brung en put down right spang und' der nose—dem kinder folks ain't got no needs er no umbrell. Night 'fo' las', w'iles I wuz settin' dar in de do', I year dem Willis-whistlers, en den⁶ I des knowed we 'uz gwine ter git a season."[7]

 

"The Willis-whistlers, Uncle Remus," exclaimed the little boy. "What are they?"

 

[23]"Youer too hard fer me now, honey. Dat w'at I knows I don't min' tellin', but w'en you axes me 'bout dat w'at I dunno, den youer too hard fer me, sho'. Deze yer Willis-whistlers, dey bangs my time, en I bin⁷ knockin' 'roun' in dish yer low-groun' now gwine on eighty year. Some folks wanter make out deyer frogs, yit I wish dey p'int out unter me how frogs kin holler so dat de nigher you come t'um, de furder you is off; I be

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