Brer Jeems Henry,
he mounted Brer Plato an' rid 'im over de railin', an' den de
preacher he start down fum de pulpit, an' des ez he wuz skippin'
onter de platform a hym'-book kotch 'im in de bur er de year, an
I be bless ef it didn't soun' like a bung-shell'd busted. Des
den, Brer Jesse, he riz up in his seat, sorter keerless like, an'
went down inter his britches atter his razer, an' right den I
know'd sho' nuff trubble wuz begun. Sis Dilsey, she seed it
herse'f, an' she tuck'n let off wunner dem hallyluyah hollers,
an' den I disremember w'at come ter pass.
"I'm gittin' sorter ole, Brer Rastus, an' it seem like de dus'
sorter shet out de pannyrammer. Fuddermo', my lim's got ter akin,
mo' speshully w'en I year Brer Sim an' Brer Dick a snortin' and a
skufflin' under de benches like ez dey wuz sorter makin' der way
ter my pew. So I kinder hump myse'f an' scramble out, and de fus
man w'at I seed was a pleeceman, an' he had a nigger 'rested, an'
de fergiven name er dat nigger wuz Remus."
"He didn't 'res' you, did he, Brer Remus?"
"Hit's des like I tell you, Brer Rastus, an' I hatter git Mars
John fer to go inter my bon's fer me. Hit ain't no use fer ter
sing out chu'ch ter me, Brer Rastus.
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