He lines in en he
talk politics same like t'er fokes, twel bimeby dinnertime come
'roun', en dey ax 'im up, w'ich 'greed wid his stummuck, en he
pozzit his bag underneed de table 'longside de udder bags w'at de
hongry fokes'd brung.
"No sooner did de blacksmif git back on de groun' dan he 'gun ter
wuk his way outer de bag. He crope out, he did, en den he tuck'n
change de bag. He tuck'n tuck a n'er bag en lay it down whar dish
yer bag wuz, en den he crope outer de crowd en lay low in de
underbresh.
"Las', w'en de time come fer ter go, de Ole Boy up wid his bag en
slung her on his shoulder, en off he put fer de Bad Place. W'en
he got dar he tuck'n drap de bag off'n his back en call up de
imps, en dey des come a squallin' en a caperin', w'ich I speck
dey mus' a bin hongry. Leas'ways dey des swawm'd 'roun',
hollerin' out:
"'Daddy, w'at you brung--daddy, w'at you brung?'
"So den dey open de bag, en lo en behol's, out jump a big bull-
dog, en de way he shuck dem little imps wuz a caution, en he kep'
on gnyawin' un um twel de Ole Boy open de gate en t'un 'im out."
"And what became of the blacksmith?" the little boy asked, as
Uncle Remus paused to snuff the candle with his fingers.
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