If Brer John Henry know'd de
color er dat watermillion, I speck he'd snatch me up 'fo' de
confunce. I 'clar' ter grashus ef dat jug ain't a caution!"
"I suppose it's full of molasses now," remarked one of the young
men, sarcastically.
"Hear dat!" exclaimed Uncle Remus, triumphantly "hear dat! W'at
I tell you? I sed dat jug wuz seetful, an' I sticks to it. I bin
knowin' dat--"
"What has it got in it?" broke in some one; "molasses, kerosene,
or train-oil?"
"Well, I lay she's loaded, boss. I ain't shuk her up sence I
drapt in, but I lay she's loaded."
"Yes," said the agricultural editor, "and it's the meanest bug-
juice in town--regular sorghum skimmings."
"Dat's needer yer ner dar," responded Uncle Remus. "Po' fokes
better be fixin' up for Chris'mus now w'ile rashuns is cheap.
Dat's me. W'en I year Miss Sally gwine 'bout de house w'isslin'
'W'en I k'n read my titles cle'r--an' w'en I see de martins
swawmin' atter sundown--an' w'en I year de peckerwoods confabbin'
togedder dese moonshiny nights in my een er town--en I knows de
hot wedder's a breakin' up, an' I know it's 'bout time fer po'
fokes fer ter be rastlin' 'roun' and huntin' up dere rashuns.
Dat's me, up an down.
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