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"Mornin', sah." "I'm sorter up an' about," responded Uncle Remus, carelessly and calmly. "How is you stannin' it?" "Tanky you, my helt' mos' so-so. He mo' hot dun in de mountain. Seem so lak man mus' git need*1 de shade. I enty fer see no rice-bud in dis pa'ts." "In dis w'ich?" inquired Uncle with a sudden affectation of interest. "In dis pa'ts. In dis country. Da plenty in Sawanny."
"Him po' country fer true," commented the Savannah negro; "he no like Sawanny. Down da, we set need de shade an' eaty de rice-bud, an' de crab, an' de swimp tree time de day; an' de buckra man drinky him wine, an' smoky him seegyar all troo de night. Plenty fer eat an' not much fer wuk." "Hit's mighty nice, I speck," responded Uncle Remus, gravely.
"Plenty whar?" "Da plenty in Sawanny. I enty fer see no crab an' no oscher; en swimp, he no stay 'roun'. I lak some rice-bud now." "You er talkin' 'bout deze yer sparrers, w'ich dey er all head, en 'lev'm un makes one mouffle,*2 I speck," suggested Uncle Remus.
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