"One time," said the old darkey, transferring his spectacles from
his nose to the top of his head and leaning his elbows upon his
peg-board, "dere wuz a blacksmif man, en dish yer blacksmif man,
he tuck'n stuck closer by his dram dan he did by his bellus.
Monday mawnin' he'd git on a spree, en all dat week he'd be on a
spree, en de nex' Monday mawnin' he'd take a fresh start. Bimeby,
one day, atter de blacksmif bin spreein''roun' en cussin'
might'ly, he hear a sorter rustlin' fuss at de do', en in walk de
Bad Man."
"Who, Uncle Remus?" the little boy asked.
"De Bad Man, honey; de Ole Boy hisse'f right fresh from de ridjun
w'at you year Miss Sally readin' 'bout. He done hide his hawns,
en his tail, en his hoof, en he come dress up like w'ite fokes.
He tuck off his hat en he bow, en den he tell de blacksmif who he
is, en dat he done come atter 'im. Den de black-smif, he gun ter
cry en beg, en he beg so hard en he cry so loud dat de Bad Man
say he make a trade wid 'im. At de een' er one year de sperit er
de blacksmif wuz to be his'n en endurin' er dat time de blacksmif
mus' put in his hottes' licks in de intruss er de Bad Man, en den
he put a spell on de cheer de blacksmif was settin' in, en on his
sludge-hammer.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149