Mammy's Favorite Story

ONE spring evening, when the little girl had been put to bed just after dusk, she was startled by the eerie whimpering of screech owls in the big orange trees outside her window. Mammy had already drawn up her chair to its accustomed place beside the bed, and she began to speak reassuringly; —

Don’t you be skeert, honey, er dem good-fer-nuttin’ little squinch owls wot’s hollerin’ out dere. Dey cain’t do you a speck er harm. Dey’s born cowards, an’ dey ain’t fitten fer nuttin’ in dis worl’ ’cepen to make a pussun’s flesh creep. Jes’ shet yo’ purty eyes, an’ Mammy ’ll tell you all ’bout de owls. No, chile, yo’ Mammy ain’t aimin’ to go out er dis-yer room fer hours an’ hours. Now lissen to Mammy.

’T was one er dem great big hawn-owls dat I start to tell you ’bout — ’bout how he tuck it into his haid to give a ball. ’T was long ’bout a mont’ atter we-all’s startin’ sugar makin’. Nobody wuz studyin’ yit ’bout puttin’ de tuekeys up in de coops to fatten ’em fer Christmas, an’ dat wuz how come Mr. Hawn-Owl got de chance to play dat trick on yo’ gran’ma.

Well, sah, he corned over ev’y night, jes’ as soon as ’twas dark enough fer him to see, an’ sot up in dat ol’ tree by de stable, makin’ out he wuz watchin’ fer rats; but all de time he wuz twissin’ his haid roun’ to see w’ich way Mr. Tuckey-Gobbler wuz roostin’. An’ befo’ long he foun’ out.

At las’ he flewed over one night an’ lighted in de puckorn tree in de back yard whar all de tuekeys wuz roostin’, but dey did n’t pay ’im no mind ’cause dey done got use’ to seein’ him ’bout de place. Den he drapped down on de limb whar Mr. TuekeyGobbler wuz, ’twixt him an’ de trunk ob de tree, an’ atter a while, w’en he see Mr. Tuekey-Gobbler wuz gone to sleep, he make out he feel sort er col’ an’ he edge up close to Mr. Tuekey-Gobbler. Mr. TuekeyGobbler he wake up an’ holler, ‘Quit, quit!' an’ edge off a little ways. Putty soon Mr. Hawn-Owl he edge up ag’in, close to Mr. Tuekey-Gobbler, an’ Mr. Tuekey-Gobbler he wake up an’ holler, ‘ Quit, quit! ’ an’ edge off ag’in. Mr, Hawn-Owl he kep’ up doin’ de same thing twell at las’ Mr. TuekeyGobbler comed to de end ob de limb and failed off — flop!

Befo’ he hit de groun’, Mr. Hawn-Owl wuz on top er him an’ done kill him dead as a do’nail. But w’en Mr. Hawn-Owl come to pick ’im up, he wuz so heavy dat Mr. Hawn-Owl had all he knowed how to do to git ’im as fur as de woods. At las’, w’en he got to de big oak whar he lived, ’twas mos’ day, an’ he wuz mighty glad to drap down on de groun’ an’ call to Mr. Possum, wot had he house in de holler ob de tree, to come an’ git Mr. Tuekey-Gobbler an’ pick de fedders offen ’im; ’cause Mr. Possum he got mighty neat little han’s, an’ dat wuz de barg’in dey had, dat ef Mr. Possum would pick all de chickens an’ tuekeys wot Mr. Hawn-Owl cotch, he wuz to git all de bones fer his share.

Well, w’en he done sot Mr. Possum to wnck, Mr. Hawn-Owl he flewed up to de limb whar Mr. Squerl had he house, an’ he say, ‘Good mawnin’, Mr. Squerl.’

Mr. Squerl he say, ‘Is dat you, Mr. Hawn-Owl? Good mawnin’.’ But he wuz mighty keerful not to show his haid out er de top er de nes’, ’cause he don’t trus’ none er de owl fambly too fur, as he knowed ev’y las’ one uv ’em like a tas’e er squerl meat now an’ den. But de nex’ minute he seed ’twarn’t no use gittin’ skeert, ’cause Mr. Hawn-Owl he say, ‘Mr. Squerl, I jes’ had de good luck to ketch me a mighty big fat tuckey, an’ you kin have all de corn an’ puckorns wot he got in he craw ef you’s got de time to do me a favor.’

Mr. Hawn-Owl he say dat ’cause Mr. Squerl he alius ac’ like he too busy to stan’ still, an’ is a-friskin’ an’ a-caperin’ up dis tree an’ up dat tree, an’ down ag’in, all day long; but he mighty fon’ er corn an’ puckorns, so he say, ‘Ob cos, Mr. Hawn-Owl, ob cos I’se willin’ to ’blige you anyways I kin.’

So den Mr. Hawn-Owl say he want Mr. Squerl to frisk rouu’ troo de woods an’ ax all he fren’s to come de nex’ day an’ hab a dance an’ git a tas’e ob de fattes’, bigges’ luekey-gobbler wot been kilt dat year. An’ den Mr. Hawn-Owl he flopped up to his roos’ de bes’ way he kin, fer ’twas broad day by dat time an’ he wuz mos’ blind, an’ mighty sleepy.

Well, ’long ’bout two hours atter sunup, Mr. Possum wuz settin’ down in de holler ob de tree pickin’ an’ a-pickin’ de fedders off er Mr. Tuckey-Gobbler w’en ’long come Mr. Coon, sneakin’ mighty easy. W’en he see wot Mr. Possum wuz a-doin’, he stop, an’ Mr. Possum he say to hisse’f, ‘Yere’s one er de company wot done come ahead er time,’ so he sing out to Mr. Coon: —

Dat make Mr. Coon sorter mad, as he nebber did hab no use fer Mr. Possum nohow, but he try to make out he wuz smilin’, an’ he say, perlite as he know how, he say, ‘I come to see ef you could n’t let me hab one ob dem tuckey fools, Mr. Possum. I knows all de bones b’longs to you.’ But for answer Mr. Possum he jes’ sing out, same as befo’: —

Well, sah, dat make Mr. Coon so mad he cain’t hold onter hisse’f no longer. He jes’ jump on Mr. Possum, an’ start a-bitin’ an’ a-scratchin’ like he would t’ar him to pieces. An’ pore Mr. Possum he holler an’ beg, ‘Please lemme go, Mr. Coon! Please, sir, lemme go! I’ll let you have yo’ pick ob Mr. Tuckey-Gobbler’s foots. You kin take de one you likes de bes’.’

So Mr. Coon tu’n him loose, an’ Mr. Possum start into de house like he wuz goin’ to git Mr. Tuckey-Gobbler; but ’stid er gittin’ him, he jes’ slip on his heavy boots an’ buckle on a pair ob dese-yere great big army spurs, wid long prickers on ’em as sharp as needles. In a minute he come out singin’ dat same song wot made Mr. Coon so dancin’ mad fum de fust: —

At dat Mr. Coon git as mad as fire, an’ he start fer Mr. Possum to finish him up, but he don’t know nuttin’ ’bout de spurs. Mr. Possum wait, fer him to come up, den he jes’ jump all over him an’ spur him in de back, in de sides, in de haid; an’ ef Mr. Coon had n’t hollered an’ begged mighty quick. Mr. Possum would er made hash-meat outen him, sho’.

An’ dat’s how you ain’t nebber see Mr. Coon a-tryin’ to meddle wid Mr. Possum from dat day to dis, fer he ain’t fergot dat turrible whuppin’ Mr. Possum gib him ’bout Mr. Tuckey-Gobbler’s foots.