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"'No I ain't dead, nudder, sez Brer Fox, sezee. 'I got ole man Rabbit pent up in yer, sezee, 'en I'm a gwine ter git 'im dis time ef it take twel Chris'mus, sezee. "Den, atter some mo' palaver, Brer Fox make a bargain dat Mr. Buzzard wuz ter watch de hole, en keep Brer Rabbit dar wiles Brer Fox went atter his axe. Den Brer Fox, he lope off, he did, en Mr.
Undt uff he iss onnust he iss a berfect tressure, undt uff he aint a berfect tressure," he smiled anew and tendered his capacious hat to his listener, "you yoost kin take tiss, Toctor, undt kip udt undt vare udt! Toctor, I vish you a merrah Chris'mus!" The merry day went by. The new year, 1858, set in. Everything gathered momentum. There was a panic and a crash.
The seance was over; but, before the little boy went into the "big house," Uncle Remus laid his rough hand tenderly on the child's shoulder, and remarked, in a confidential tone: "Honey, you mus' git up soon Chris'mus mawnin' en open de do'; kase I'm gwineter bounce in on Marse John en Miss Sally, en holler 'Chris'mus gif'' des like I useter endurin' de farmin' days fo' de war, w'en ole Miss wuz 'live.
"That ain't no lie," broke in another, "I hearn it myself jest before dark, it was. An' I know! Didn't I hear it that night over on Ten Fork? The time she got Jack Kane's woman, four year ago, come Chris'mus. Yes, sir! I tell you the werwolf's nigh about this camp, an' it's me in off the edges afore dark!" "They say she never laughs but she makes a kill," said one. "God!
Finally just as I got to the bottom of one box and before I had opened the other one, a little boy sniffling to himself in the corner remarked, sotto voce: "Ain't there no real Chris'mus gif's in there for us little fellers, too?"
Toad. I's too wordless to sing 'em now, but dey was funny. Us danced plenty, too. Some o' de men clogged an' pidgeoned, but when us had dances dey was real cotillions, lak de white folks had. Dey was always a fiddler an', on Chris'mus an' other holidays, de slaves was' lowed to' vite dey sweethearts from other plantations.
The first thing that reminded us that Christmas had arrived was the "foreday" visits of scores of children rapping at our doors, asking for "Chris'mus gifts! Chris'mus gifts!" Between the hours of two o'clock and five o'clock in the morning I presume that we must have had a half-hundred such calls. This custom prevails throughout this portion of the South to-day.
Oh, yes," replying to the look of deprecation in her face as she viewed her shabby frock, "you an' Polly c'n prink up some if you want to, but we can't take 'No' fer an answer Chris'mus day, clo'es or no clo'es." "I'd really like ter," said Mrs. Cullom. "All right then," said David cheerfully. "The path is swep' by this time, I guess, an' I'll see ye later.
"I'se got fo' boys livin'. One son were in de big strike in de automobile plant in Detroit an' couldn' come to see me las' Chris'mus. He'll come to see me nex' year if I's still here. "Maybe folks goin' a-think hard o' me for tellin' what aint never been tol' b'fore. I been asked to tell what I seen an' I done it. "Dat's tellin' what I never thought to tell."
In de happy Chris'mus time De niggers shake der cloze a huntin' for a dime. Hi my rinktum! En den dey shake der feet, En greaze derse'f wid de good ham meat. Ho my Riley! dey eat en dey cram, En bimeby ole Miss 'll be a sendin' out de dram. Den it's ho my Riley! You hear dat, Sam! En it's hi my rinktum! Be a sendin' out de dram!
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