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Updated: June 3, 2025
Our people home tell us Yankees want niggers to kill; an' da boils 'em up in great caldrons to eat, 'case da's starvin'. But all de white men gone into de army, an' lef' us all wid missus, an' da locks de bacon up for de sojers, an' gib us little han'ful o' meal a day, an' we's got weak an' trimbly. An' I tole my people we's gwine to die anyhow, an' we'd try de Yankees."
"Pick me a small han'ful," she commanded. "No, no, a small han'ful, I said, o' them large pennyr'yal sprigs! I go to all the trouble an' cossetin' of 'em just so as to have you ready to meet such occasions, an' last year, you may remember, you never stopped here at all the day you went up country. An' the frost come at last an' blacked it.
"En wid dat he drapt his game en loped back up de road atter de udder rabbit, en w'en he got outer sight, ole Brer Rabbit, he snatch up Brer Fox game en put out fer home. Nex' time he see Brer Fox he holler out: "'What you kill de udder day, Brer Fox? sezee. "Den Brer Fox, he sorter koam his flank wid his tongue, en holler back: "'I kotch a han'ful er hard sense, Brer Rabbit, sezee.
You er mighty nice chap dat's w'at you is! But now dat I got you, I'll des 'bout settle wid you fer de ole en de new. "En wid dat, Mr. Man, he go off, he did, down in de bushes atter han'ful er switches. Ole Brer Rabbit, he ain't sayin' nuthin', but he feelin' mighty lonesome, en he sot dar lookin' like eve'y minnit wuz gwineter be de nex'. En w'iles Mr.
And his name, it is Tommy Islington. Them's the very words I used." He stopped and chafed his clammy hands upon his knees. "It's six months ago sens I made you my pardner. Thar ain't a lick I've struck sens then, Tommy, thar ain't a han'ful o' yearth I've washed, thar ain't a shovelful o' rock I've turned over, but I tho't o' you.
"As I were sayin', th' bear he takes after me wi' his best licks an' I takes off an' tries t' load my gun as I runs. I drops in a han'ful o' powder an' then finds I gone an' left my ball pouch at th' fire. It were pretty hard runnin' wi' my racquets sinkin' in th' snow, which were new an' soft an' I were losin' ground an' gettin' winded an' 'twere lookin' like un's goin' t' cotch me sure.
"If Joe Enselman was here," he said, "I bet he could ketch more fish in half 'n hour, with a pole like this o' mine and a han'ful o' 'hoppers, than any of you can in a whole week o' fishing with them fancy things." "Oh, Tommy!" Ruth Mary expostulated, looking distressed. "Who is this famous fisherman?" Kirkwood asked, smiling at Tommy's boast. "Oh, he's a feller I know.
"Now don't glunch, dear, when I tell ye what I want thim fur." I promised. "Whistle fur Hen," she said, "and give him that han'ful of marbles if he'll tell ye what his mother haas fur dinner th' day." I whistled and Hen responded. "I'll bate ye two chanies, Hen, that I know what ye've got fur dinner!" "I'll bate ye!" said Hen, "show yer chanies!" "Show yours!" said I.
The lying words died on his tongue, and turning his eyes away from the little face that he loved, he said gloomily, "What's that got to do with it anyhow? S'posin' I do hook a han'ful of peanuts sometimes. That ain't nothin'." "Tode, do you want Little Brother to hook a handful of peanuts sometimes when he gets big?" asked Nan, quietly.
"Why," asked Drake, "what are you going to do, Bob, with bullets and buckshot?" Clump was down on his knees in the closet, overhauling the tool-box he had spoken of. "Well, Drake, I'll tell you if Clump finds the articles," I answered. "Have you got any, Clump?" "Yah, Massa, 'ere's a han'ful."
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