"Yer'll all be havin' de croup nex'. Git out, I tell yer!
Efn yer don't, I gwine straight an' tell yer pa.
It needed no second bidding, and the little girls scrambled up the
bank, and drying their feet as best they could upon their skirts, they
put on their shoes and stockings.
"What are you doin', Uncle Bob?" called Diddie.
"I'm jes er cuttin' me er few willers fur ter make baskit-handles
outn."
"Can't we come an' look at yer?" asked Diddie.
"Yes, honey, efn yer wants ter," replied Uncle Bob, mightily pleased.
"You're all pow'ful fon' er dis ole nigger; you're allers wantin' ter
be roun' him."
"It's 'cause you always tell us tales, an' don't quar'l with us,"
replied Diddie, as the children drew near the old man, and watched him
cut the long willow branches.
"Uncle Bob," asked Dumps, "what was that you was singin' 'bout the jay
bird?"
"Lor', honey, hit wuz jes 'boutn 'im dyin' wid de hookin'-coff; but
yer better lef' dem jay birds erlone; yer needn' be er wantin' ter
hyear boutn 'em."
"Why, Uncle Bob?"
"Caze, honey, dem jay birds dey cyars news ter de deb'l, dey do an'
yer better not fool 'long 'em."
"Do they tell him everything?" asked Diddie, in some solicitude.
"Dat dey do! Dey tells 'im eb'ything dey see you do wat ain't right;
dey cyars hit right erlong ter de deb'l.
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