"Dat's de p'int. Dat's w'at make me say w'at I duz. I bin knowin'
dat jug now gwine on sixty-fi' year, an' de jug w'at's more
seetful dan dat jug ain't on de topside er de worrul. Dar she
sets," continued the old man, gazing at it reflectively, "dar she
sets dez ez natchul ez er ambertype, an' yit whar's de man w'at
kin tell w'at kinder confab she's a gwineter carry on w'en dat
corn-cob is snatched outen 'er mouf? Dat jug is mighty seetful,
mon."
"Well, it don't deceive any of us up here," remarked the
agricultural editor, dryly. "We've seen jugs before."
"I boun' you is, boss; I boun' you is. But you ain't seed no
seetful jug like dat. Dar she sets a bellyin' out an' lookin'
mighty fat an' full, an' yit she'd set dar a bellyin' out ef dere
wuzzent nuthin' but win' under dat stopper. You knows dat she
ain't got no aigs in her, ner no bacon, ner no grits, ner no
termartusses, ner no shellotes, an' dat's 'bout all you duz know.
Dog my cats ef de seetfulness er dat jug don't git away wid me,"
continued Uncle Remus, with a chuckle. "I wuz comm' 'cross de
bridge des now, an' Brer John Henry seed me wid de bag slung
onter my back, an' de jug in it, an' he ups an' sez, sezee:
"'Heyo, Brer Remus, ain't it gittin' late for watermillions?'
"Hit wuz de seetfulness er dat jug.
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