ONE
night recently, as Uncle Remus's Miss
Sally was sitting by the fire sewing and sing
ing softly to herself, she heard the old man
come into the back yard and enter the dining-
room, where a bright fire was still burning in
the grate. Everything had been cleared away.
The cook had gone and the house girl had dis
appeared, and the little boy was asleep. Uncle
Remus had many privileges in the house of
the daughter of his old mistress and master,
and one of these was to warm himself by the
dining-room fire whenever he felt lonely, es
pecially at night. To the lady there was a
whimsical suggestion of pathos in everything
the old negro said and did; and yet her atti
tude toward Uncle Remus was one of bustling
criticism and depreciation. By leaning back
in her chair a little, she could see him as he
sat before the fire enjoying the warmth.
"I should think it was time for you to be
in bed," she exclaimed.
"No'm, 't ain't," responded Uncle Remus.
"I year tell dat w'en ole folks git ter bed
soon, dey feelin's bin hurted; en goodness
knows dey ain't nobody hurted my feelin's dis
day."
"Well, there isn't anything in there that
you can pick up. I 've had everything put
under lock and key."
"Yessum dey is sump'n n'er in; yer, too,
kaze yer Mars John supper settin' right down
yer 'fo' de fier, en little mo' hit 'ud a bin dry
spang up, if I hadn't 'a' drapt in des w'en
I did. I year Mars John tell dat ar nigger
'oman w'at you call yo' cook fer ter have
'im some fried aigs fur supper, en ef deze ain't
fried en dried I ain't never see none w'atis.
W'en Mars John come, you kin set plum' in
dar en year 'im crack um up in his mouf, same
lak cow chawin' fodder. Las' Sat'd'y night
Mars John fotch some fried isters home, en ef
dish yer nigger 'oman stay on dis hill many
mo' days, he ull git all his vittles cooked down
town en fetch it home in a baskit. Whar
Mars John now?"
Just then there was a call at the telephone.
The little gong rattled away like a house on
fire. As the lady went to answer it, Uncle
Remus rose from his chair and crept on his
tip-toes to the door that opened into the sitting-
room. He heard his Miss Sally talking.
"Well, what's wanted? ... Oh - is that
you? Well, I couldn't imagine ... No ...
Fast asleep too long ago to talk about ...
Why of course! No! ... Why should I be
frightened! ... I declare! you ought to be
ashamed ... Remus is here ... Two hours!
I think you are horrid mean! ... By-by!"
Uncle Remus stood looking suspiciously at
the telephone after his Miss Sally had turned
away.
"Miss Sally," he said presently, "wuz you
talkin' ter Mars John?"
"Certainly. Who did you suppose it was?"
"Wharbouts wuz Mars John?"
"At his office."
"Way down yan on Yallerbamer Street?"
"Yes."
At this piece of information, Uncle Remus
emitted a groan that was full of doubt and
pity, and went into the dining-room. His
Miss Sally laughed, and then an idea seemed
to strike her. She called him back, and went
again to the telephone.
"Is that you, Central! ... Please connect
eleven-forty with fourteen-sixty." There was
a fluttering sound in the instrument, and then
the lady said: "Yes, it's me ! ... Here's Re
mus. ... Yes, but he wants to talk to you."
"Here, Remus, take this and put it to your
ear. Here, simpleton! It won't hurt you."
Uncle Remus took the ear-piece and handled
it as though it had been a loaded pistol. He
tried to look in at both ends, and then he
placed it to his ear, and grinned sheepishly.
He heard a thin, sepulchral, but familiar voice
calling out, "Hello, Remus!" and his sheep
ish grin gave place to an expression of uneasy
astonishment.
"Hello, Remus! Hello-ello-ello-ello-o-o!"
"Is dat you, Mars John?"
"Of course it is, you bandy-legged old vil
lain. I have no time to be standing here.
What do you want?"
"How in de name er God you git in dar,
Mars John?"
"In where?"
"In dish yer - in dish yer appleratus."
"Oh, you be fiddle-stick! What do you
want?"
"Mars John, kin you see me - er is she all
dark in dar?"
"Are you crazy? Where is your Miss
Sally?"
"She in yer, hollun en laughing'. Mars
John, how you gwine git out'n dar?"
"Dry up! Good-night!"
"Yer 't is, Miss Sally," said Uncle Remus,
after listening a moment. "Dey 's a mighty
zoonin' gwine on in dar, en I dunner whe'er
Mars John tryin' ter scramble out, er whe'er
he des tryin' fer ter make hisself comfertuble
in dar."
"What did he say, Remus?"
"He up en 'low'd dat one un us wuz a vil
yun, but dey was such a buzzin' gwine on in
dar dat I could n't 'zactly ketch de rights un
it."
Uncle Remus went back to his place by the
dining-room fire, and after a while began to
mutter and talk to himself.
"What 's the matter now?" his Miss Sally
asked.
"I 'uz des a-sayin' dat I know Mars John
mus' be suffun some'rs."
"Why?"
"Oh, I des knows it; kaze' ef he ain't, wa't
make he talk so weak ? He bleedz ter be in
trouble. I 'm a-tellin' you de Lord's trufe
dat w'ite man talk like he ain't bigger den one
er deze yer little teenchy chany dolls. I boun'
you," he continued, "ef I 'uz a w'ite 'oman
en Mars John wuz my ole man, I 'd snatch up
my bonnet en I 'd natally sail 'roun' dish yer
town twel I fine out w'at de matter wid 'im.
I would dat."
The old man's Miss Sally laughed until the
tears came in her eyes, and then she said: -
"There 's a piece of pie on the sideboard.
Do get it, and hush so much talking."
"Thanky, mistiss, thanky!" exclaimed
Uncle Remus, shuffling across the room. He
got the pie and returned to his chair. "Dish
yer pie," he continued, holding it up between
his eyes and the fire - " dish yer pie come in
good time, kaze Mars John talk so weak en
fur off it make me feel right empty. I speck
he be well time he git home, en ef he 'uz ter
git holt er dish yer pie, hit mought make 'im
have bad dreams."
In a few moments the pie had disappeared,
and when his Miss Sally looked at him a little
later, he was fast asleep.