Den I
gits under de kiver an' tells my ole 'oman fer ter lay 'em onto
me like she was roofin' a house. Bimeby she crawls in, an' de
shingles w'at she put on her side fer ter kiver wid, dey all drap
off on de flo'. Den up I gits an' piles 'em on agin, an' w'en I
gits in bed my shingles draps off, an' dat's de way it wuz de
whole blessid night. Fus' it wuz me up an' den de ole 'oman, an'
it kep' us pow'ful warm, too, dat kinder exercise. Oh, you
oughter drapt roun' 'bout dat time, Brer John Henry. You'd a
year'd sho' nuff cussin'!"
"You don't tell me, Brer Remus!"
"My ole 'oman say de Ole Boy wouldn't a foun' a riper nigger, ef
he wer' ter scour de country fum Ferginny ter de Alabam'"
XXI. THE FOURTH OF JULY
UNCLE REMUS made his appearance recently with his right arm in a
sling and his head bandaged to that extent that it looked like
the stick made to accompany the Centennial bass-drum. The old
man evidently expected an attack all around, for he was unusually
quiet, and fumbled in his pockets in an embarrassed manner. He
was not mistaken. The agricultural editor was the first to open
fire:
"Well, you old villain! what have you been up to now?"
"It is really singular," remarked a commencement orator, "that
not even an ordinary holiday--a holiday, it seems to me, that
ought to arouse all the latent instincts of patriotism in the
bosom of American citizens--can occur without embroiling some of
our most valuable citizens.
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