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"Brer Fox crope up little nigher, he did, en lissen, but he don't year no fuss, en he keep on gittin' nigher, en yit he don't year nuthin'. Bimeby he git up close en peep down, but he don't see nuthin' en he don't year nuthin'. All dis time Brer Rabbit mighty nigh skeer'd outen his skin, en he fear'd fer ter move kaze de bucket might keel over en spill him out in de water.
I was jes' leetle 'nuff so I crope th'u de do' an' hides behin' de co'nah ob de sidebo'd. "I was moughty cur'ous," confessed Uncle Rufus. "I wanted tuh know jes' wot Mars' Colby say w'en he fin' dat goose ain' got but one laig on him." "And what did he say, Uncle Rufus?" asked Agnes, breathless with interest like the other listeners. "Das is wot I is a-comin' to.
"'Now, den, sez Brer Fox, 'we er gone, sho, sezee. "'W'at we gwine do? sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. "'I'll git in de maul, sez Brer Fox, 'en you'll jump in de gall, sezee. Nobody don't say nuthin'. Den de man say he'll cut 'er open en see, en den he whirl in, en twan't no time 'fo' he had 'er intruls spread out. Brer Rabbit, he crope out'n de gall, en say, sezee: "'Mister Man! Oh, Mister Man!
As for them feet an' laigs, I never catches cold. "An' thar that ornery Grief reposes, too plumb lazy to move, while the branch creeps up about him. It's crope up so high, final, that his y'ears an' the back of his head is in it. All Grief does is sort o' lift his chin an' lay squar', to keep his nose out so's he can breathe.
"Hit wuz dis way, boss: I wuz layin' in my bed dis mawnin' sorter ruminatin' 'roun', when de fus news I know'd I year a fus' 'mong de chickens, an' den my brissels riz. I done had lots er trubble wid dem chickens, an' w'en I years wun un um squall my ve'y shoes comes ontied. So I des sorter riz up an' retch fer my ole muskit, and den I crope out er de back do', an' w'atter you reckin I seed?"
We's gonter git somewhar an' they ain't no use'n worryin' whar. You go down an' set on the po'ch an' I'll pack yo' things an' I'll do it as good as anybody an' we'll crope out'n here in the mawnin' befo' Marse Bob an' Miss Milly's dus' air settled on the pike.
But 'twan't no year, an 'twan't no mont', en mo'n dat, hit wa'n't skasely a week, w'en bimeby one day Brer B'ar wuz gwine home fum de takin' un a bee-tree, en lo en behol's, who should he see but ole Brer Bull-frog settin' out on de aidge er de mud-muddle fas' 'sleep! Brer B'ar drap his axe, he did, en crope up, en retch out wid his paw, en scoop ole Brer Bull-frog in des dis away."
"En den he crope off down de fence, Brer Rabbit did, en bimeby here he come lippity-clippity, clippity-lippity des a sailin' down de big road. "'Mornin', Sis Cow, sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'bow you come on dis mornin'? sezee. "Po'ly, Brer Rabbit, poly, sez Miss Cow, sez she. 'I ain't had no res' all night, sez she.
"I was sure that the Cornfeds, ez hed seen them lope down inter the Cove, would be waitin' ter capshur them when they kem up the road agin I jes' showed him how ter crope out through the cave," Ethelinda sobbed. "How in perdition did they find thar way through that thar dark hole? I can't sense that!" the old man suddenly mumbled.
Nex' mawnin' w'en ole Brer Rabbit come slippin' 'long en crope thoo de crack, de loop-knot kotch 'im behime de fo'legs, en de saplin' flew'd up, en dar he wuz 'twix' de heavens en de yeth. Dar he swung, en he fear'd he gwineter fall, en he fear'd he wer'n't gwineter fall.
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